


Captivation

by unfoldingbliss



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-30 07:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfoldingbliss/pseuds/unfoldingbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An evening stroll towards a new cafe is precisely what Professor Sycamore needed. And the man that owns it is kind of cute, too. [Lysandre/Sycamore]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Right Here

I did it. I wrote the first chapter. Go me. Also, a little heads-up that this is kind of long...but that's what happens when you let characters do their thing.

I hope you guys enjoy!

0808080808080808080808080

“A new café?” Sycamore looked up from his desk, locking eyes with his assistant as she handed him the daily research reports. He skimmed over the neat handwriting quickly, frowning as it became apparent no real progress had been made, “Across the Central Pokemon Center?”

“Yep!” the assistant chirped, holding her folder close to her chest. She was a relatively new hire, maybe two months since her final interview. And although Sycamore was usually good with names, her heart-shaped face and gray eyes weren’t ringing any bells, “My boyfriend and I went there the other day and I think it’s something just up your alley. Everything was decorated in rich reds, and the waiters were very polite. And the café noisette I ordered was just scrumptious! Seriously, if you’re heading that way, you should take a look.”

Sycamore cocked his head, weighing his options. It had been a while since he had ventured out of his typical haunts. And he had promised Bonnie he would stop by the gym sometime this week…

“It doesn’t hurt to take a look, does it?” he smiled and winked at his assistant, throwing off his white lab coat and setting it on the back of his chair, “You and the others can take care of the clean up on the second floor, I assume?”

He hadn’t noticed, distracted by thoughts of which coat would look best with his salmon shirt, the pretty pink blush spreading against his assistant’s dark skin as he continued prepping for the evening. It was all unintentional, really, the way he could capture an audience with such simple gestures like fixing his beret or smoothing out his collar. For years, his family and friends had insisted he could snatch the attention and affections of any woman he so desired through his talents of captivation.

 _Wouldn’t matter if she was married or the princess of Kalos_ , he remembered one such college friend snickered, _You’d find a way to get her, guaranteed_.

Too bad it was never really women he had been after.

“Clarice?” her remembered name abruptly lifted off Sycamore’s tongue as he buttoned the top of his navy blue peacoat, concerned she had yet replied, “You’ll inform the others, right?”

She tensed a little at the use of her name, the blush traveling to the ends of her neck. It was obvious now that she had been staring, but Sycamore did his best to ignore the itch to tease her. She had a boyfriend after all, and it would be unkind to lead her on with any hint of flirtation. Especially since their relationship before her sudden recommendation had been strictly professional.

“Ye…Yes, Professor,” Clarice nodded and gave him a weak, nervous smile, backing away from his desk and heading towards the door, “I’ll tell them – and, oh, have fun! You’ll love it, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he replied as she scurried out into the hallway. Several seconds later, the faint slam of a door could be heard, indicating she had taken the stairs instead of the elevator. Perhaps she was afraid she would run into him if she had to wait.

Sycamore sighed, checking to make sure all his essentials were safe in the large pockets of his peacoat. Maybe it would be wise to avoid her tomorrow, and then talk about the café the next day. Young people like that were still impressionable, buzzing with hormones and emotions at twice the speed adults had grown accustomed to. Give Clarice time to get over her embarrassment, and then swoop in and insist everything was A-Okay. A classic Sycamore method that seemed to work every time.

After a quick elevator ride and a polite goodbye to his secretary, Sycamore exited the labs and inhaled the crisp spring air, ripe with the smells of hot galettes and fresh-brewed espresso. His stomach growled sharply from hunger, and he was somewhat tempted to forgo his plans and meander over to Café Soleil. It was just down the street…

 _No, no, you promised_ , Sycamore thought, though he couldn’t quite recall if he had promised or if he had said he would give it a shot. And, not to mention, he hadn’t said he would go today, just that he would go eventually…

But then he thought of Bonnie and Clemont, and his resolve thickened despite his stomach’s desperate urgings. It was only a little hunger, anyway. He could take it, especially if it meant the brightly-lit face of Bonnie welcoming him into the gym, or Clemont eagerly spouting on about his latest invention.

“And, what’s a little walk…” he trailed while he rummaged around in his pockets, hands clasping onto the sole pokeball on his person, “without a little companionship, eh, Prince Charming?”

Sycamore pressed the center button, watching as the ball went from the size of an acorn to an apple. With a smile, he threw the ball a few feet above him, a bright white light shooting out onto the ground and shaping into his latest capture: a charmander, barely a few months old.

His pokemon blinked a few times before catching sight of the professor. A wide grin stretched over his face and Prince Charming began to dance around, seemingly happy that he was chosen for the evening’s adventure.

“You’re in luck, Charming,” Sycamore said, bending down to the pet the top of his pokemon’s head, “We’re going into unmarked territory! A brand new café – and then afterwards, we’re going to visit Bonnie and Clemont. Would you like that?”

Prince Charming squealed and nodded his head in agreement, leaning into Sycamore’s touch with feverish enthusiasm.

“Then it’s settled,” the professor grinned and stood up, “Just make sure to stay by my side, okay? And if you get tired, just pull at my pants so I can carry you the rest of the way.”

His charmander nodded again, and then they were off.

The long walk to Rogue Plaza, with the city’s bustling chatter and sweet aromas seeping into every corner of his senses, calmed Sycamore; a creeping, tentative peace sinking into his veins. The mega-evolution research at the lab had been, for lack of a better word, unsuccessful for the last few weeks or so. In such cases, Sycamore would often stay up until two or three o’clock in the morning, looking over what components they hadn’t tried there, or which methods they hadn’t attempted here. And while he loved puzzling together a feasible solution, the work could wear out his body, much more so than it had in the past. He was pushing into his mid-thirties…

 He and his charmander weaved through the growing evening crowd with relative ease, their gazes lingering on any of the window-displayed suits or pastries that caught their fancy. Sycamore even ordered a galette from Café Woof for Prince Charming, chuckling as his companion gobbled up the treat in five seconds flat.  As he picked him up and wiped the crumbs off his face, the professor wondered what kind of food they served at the new café; Clarice hadn’t spoken much about that, if at all.

 _Well, she did say it was decorated in reds,_ Sycamore thought while he smiled at a group of lasses ogling him from the other side of the street. They giggled in unison as he turned away, arguing over which one he had _really_ smiled at, _Maybe the food is kind of spicy? Or sweet – and I do like sweet! But, that would be better off with pink decorations, right? But, I am in the mood for some dessert…maybe they serve strawberry savarin! Now that would –_

His charmander growled from behind him and Sycamore snapped out of his thoughts, confused. Did he sense danger down the alley between Estival Avenue and Magenta Plaza? There didn’t seem to be anyone else around other than them, considering Magenta Plaza didn’t have much to offer civilians besides a few trinket shops.

“What is it, Charming?” Sycamore asked, “I don’t see – ”

A loud squawk was heard just above his head, and Sycamore looked up to see a murkrow leaning forward on end of a light pole. A mischievous glint flickered across its eyes, its tilted beak giving off the illusion it was smirking.

“Why…hello there, my feathered friend!” Sycamore waved at the pokemon, stepping in front of his charmander, “I see there’s been a misunderstanding. We mean you no harm – we’re just walking by to grab some coffee from the new café on – ”

Sycamore was cut off for the third time that night as the murkrow squawked again. It flapped its wings and swooped down onto the pair, making a beeline for the top of Sycamore’s head. On impulse, he ducked down and hovered over Prince Charming to protect him, hoping he could bat the murkrow away with enough time to secure charmander into his pokeball. But, his formulating plans were (as seemed to be the theme of this evening) cut short when he felt his hair rustle freely in the cool alley breeze. His hand shot up, feeling the smooth black locks weave around his fingers while the murkrow snickered behind them.

The little thief.

“Monsieur Murkrow!” Sycamore exclaimed, swerving around to face the devious pokemon, watching as his beret flopped in its thin claws, “That was a gift from my mother five Christmases ago! I request you give it back, or you shall face the consequences of your actions.”

The murkrow laughed and rolled its eyes, as though unimpressed with Sycamore’s theatrics. Sure, the professor was known for playing up the mediocre drama in his life, but this was serious! That was a treasured gift – _from his mother_!

“I’m warning you, you – hey!” Sycamore’s eyes widened as the murkrow swiveled in the air and headed towards Magenta Plaza, his throaty laugh prickling Sycamore’s ears. Without further delay, he scooped up Prince Charming into his arms and ran after the murkrow, yelling every step of the way that stealing was bad _and illegal_ and even if it was a cute pokemon, it couldn’t get away with it because he was a professor and _do it know what he could do_ if given the necessary funding?

The murkrow continued to laugh, charmander continued to growl, and Sycamore continued to plead until the trio reached a little alley he had never been down before. A few condos took up the majority of the street, but at the end stood a sign that read “ _Now Open!_ ” beside a wall painted a deep red. Despite the fact the murkrow was still snickering, egging him on with the beret between its talons, Sycamore slowed, his interest piqued. That had to be it – the café Clarice had gushed over only an hour before.

As though sensing his shift in mood, the murkrow turned around and stopped laughing, hovering above the entrance of the café. It squawked one more time before flying into the entrance, vanishing from Sycamore’s sight. A little confused (and afraid, actually, considering that stray pokemon were usually unwelcomed in food establishments around the city), Sycamore jogged over to the entrance, only to stop when he heard a deep voice speak from the other side:

“Louis, did you go looking through the trash again? You can’t bring such filthy things into the café – the customers won’t like it.”

He heard the murkrow trill and it exited the café, looking over to Sycamore and Prince Charming as it did so. The beret was no longer in its possession, but it didn’t really seem unhappy about it. It closed its eyes and began prancing in the air, its chirping becoming much more urgent.

“What? What is it?” the voice asked, “Louis, come now, you’re making a scene.”

A few seconds later, and a tall man dressed in a black, button-down shirt stepped outside of the café. Sycamore was immediately taken aback by his wild red hair, sticking out in such a way that it resembled a pyroar’s mane. The man’s face was twisted into a scowl, his full lips almost pouting at the dancing murkrow above him.

It was kind of cute, all things considered.

Then, as his eyes traveled down from his face to his broad shoulders, Sycamore’s attention was drawn to the beret twirled around the man’s gloved hands. Why had the murkrow…

Deciding he really didn’t care anymore, Sycamore cleared his throat, catching the attention of the tall man. His eyes were a clear blue, a sharp contrast to his hair. Sycamore liked it, “Excuse me, kind sir! I do believe that’s my beret in your hands.”

The man crooked a brow and looked down at the beret, as though he was only giving it any real attention now. Well, he had thought it was thrash before…

“I see,” the man said, giving the murkrow a sharp look while he walked towards Sycamore, “I’m sorry for the trouble; Louis has been getting into mischief lately, but he’s never taken something that clearly belonged to someone else before….unless it was me, that is.”

Sycamore resisted the urge to chuckle at the man’s remark – it didn’t seem like he was trying to make light of the situation. Just stating the facts, all business and professionalism. Strange…that really did make it all the more humorous, “No worries. I actually think I know what he was doing now. I mentioned my charmander and I were headed to this very café, and I just think he wanted to show us the way…and making it as amusing for himself as possible.”

The murkrow (Louis, his name was Louis and Sycamore would make sure not to forget), chirped and nodded, circling above the pair of men as they continued to exchange pleasantries.

“Just like him, really,” the man sighed, “I would give this back to you, but your hands do seem a bit preoccupied.”

“Oh?...Oh!” Sycamore exclaimed, almost forgetting that Prince Charming was, in fact, still bundled up in his arms, the fire emitting from his tail inches away from his scruffy chin, “My apologies, I completely forgot! Prince Charming here is just so light and tiny, it’s almost like I’m not holding anything at all. And, my apologies again, I forgot to introduce myself: I’m Augustine Sycamore, and I’m –”

“One of the top pokemon researchers in all of Kalos,” the man interrupted him, his eyes widening in slight recognition, “I’ve read about your studies in evolutionary theory for a years now, and I was planning a visit to your laboratory soon…you look different without a lab coat.”

Again, Sycamore held back a chuckle, unsure of how the man would react. But – the way he said it, straight-faced and all observation – it was so odd! And surprisingly endearing.

“Yes, I’d imagine so,” Sycamore mused, “And yes, that would be me, though I hesitate to call myself a top researcher. I haven’t discovered much of anything yet.”

“But your analysis and critiques on the studies before are simply beautiful,” the man praised, “It’s almost poetry, the way you can carve out a potential solution to questions that have plagued the scientific community for decades. I think your work, if proven to be successful, can rival that of the great Professor Oak’s.”

The abrupt, blunt compliment caught Sycamore off guard, warm goosebumps traveling across his skin at breakneck speed. It didn’t sound like the man was kissing up to him like some of his assistants, or that he was too blinded by adoration to give an honest opinion. Was he always so straightforward? Didn’t he know such strong praise could garner such…a strong reaction?

“Well, thank you!” Sycamore replied, doing his best to fight the heat constricting his throat. It was getting harder to talk, to be in this man’s unguarded presence, “I’m flattered you think so highly of me. But, please, all this talk of me, and I don’t even know your name! I take it you’re the owner of this café?”

“I am,” the man answered, cocking his head to the side where a hand-carved sign above the double door entrance read “ _Lysandre’s Café_ ,” “I know it’s unoriginal, but I’m not much of a poet, unfortunately, so I just named it after myself. The same with my labs – it gets the point across, mostly.”

“Lysandre, huh? That’s a handsome – wait,” Sycamore paused, his memory suddenly recalling newspaper articles about the labs being built around Magenta Plaza; about a man who liked improving the scientific community just as much as he did serving coffee. How some of the reporters thought it was bizarre that the man seemed to dedicate more time fixing up his café than talking about his latest breakthrough in communication technology. How he refused to have his picture taken, but it didn’t stop the reporters from describing his eccentric hairstyle and intimidating figure.

“You’re _the_ Lysandre?” Sycamore gawked, leaning forward while the man furrowed his brows at his outburst, “The one producing the Holo Casters? And the café with the scrumptious café noisette?”

The man blinked, steadying himself before he replied, “…Yes, I am."

“And you think _my_ work deserves your praise?” Sycamore asked, forgetting himself and looping an arm around his, keeping Prince Charming balanced in the other. He felt Lysandre stiffen a little at the unexpected contact, but he didn’t think it was worth the effort to pull away and apologize. If he could compliment Sycamore point blank, he shouldn’t have a problem with someone doing the same, “You’re providing a worldwide service that benefits the everyday man! Instead of just using pokegear to communicate with someone, you can now _see_ them! Every movement and expression, straight from your wrist! It’s amazing, beats my meager research into the ground.”

“I don’t think you can really compare the two,” Lysandre replied, allowing himself to be led back into the café, “Besides, your research is by far the –”

“Why don’t we continue this discussion over some coffee?” Sycamore suggested, taking in the vibrant shades of red bouncing off every corner of the tidy café. The polished oak chairs were lined with plush velvet, and each table was topped with a candle shaped like a litwick. An array of smells, from vanilla spice to caramel cappuccino wafted around the room, filling Sycamore with an intense hunger he had forgotten was there. He’d have to thank Clarice with a bouquet or something – to hell with being professional. This evening was shaping up to be the best he had in a while, “I would love to hear all about your ongoing research and designs.”

“I…I apologize, but I was actually working before Louis popped in,” Lysandre said, though he made no move to pull away from Sycamore, “I’m afraid I really should –”

“Young madam!” Sycamore swerved the pair around towards the register, where a petite woman dressed in typical waitress attire prepared two mochas for a couple in the corner. She crooked a brow at her boss, eyes darting towards the linked arms and Lysandre’s perplexed face, “I’m terribly sorry to inconvenience you at this time, but you see, the owner of this wonderful establishment and I need an hour to gush excessively over the other, and I would really appreciate if you and your coworkers hold everything together while we do so. I know such a pretty and self-efficient woman will do nothing but the best work!”

“…Gush?” he heard Lysandre mutter.

And to top it all off, Sycamore tilted his head and stretched his lips into a warm smile, watching as the woman, who mere seconds before seemed stressed and apathetic to his quirky demeanor, giggled and smiled back, giving a quick wink to Lysandre before replying, “Of course! What the boss wants, the boss gets!”

Lysandre opened his mouth as though to protest, but Louis tweeted happily above him before he could do so, giving Sycamore just enough time to turn him around and towards a table against the wall, “Don’t worry so much, _mon ami_. I’m sure your employee is more than capable for providing service for the next hour. And I’m sure you can give her a raise, if you feel so inclined after this evening.”

“….I suppose so,” Lysandre considered, finally pulling away from Sycamore so he could take his seat across from him. He didn’t mind, not really, considering the café was already warm and he had barely met the man. Still, when was the last time he had acted so brashly and gotten away with it? And Lysandre seemed to take everything in stride, something Sycamore could respect, “It feels odd to be a customer in my own café, however.”

Sycamore grinned, sitting Prince Charming on the chair behind him and sliding it up next to him. His charmander looked up to the professor and patted his stomach. Oh, right: the real reason they came, “I bet it does…and I’m sorry to change the subject, but you wouldn’t happen to have some pokepuffs? Charming here hasn’t had much to eat today – neither of us have, really, and –”

Once again, Louis’s loud squawk interrupted him for the whatever-he-lost-count time this evening, hovering over Prince Charming with two pokepuffs held inside its talons. He dropped a dark red one into his lap, saving the chocolate truffle puff for himself. Then, he perched himself on top of the table across theirs, picking at the treat.

“Thank you, Louis,” and for the first time since Sycamore had met him, Lysandre’s lips curved into a tentative smile, and he stretched out his arm to pet the side of Louis’s head. The murkrow cooed, and Sycamore could swear he heard a hushed chuckle escape his owner, “That was kind of you.”

Something happened in the seconds that passed between that gesture and Lysandre waving down the waiter to take their orders. Sycamore felt his heart hammer hard, once, against his ribs. His veins throbbed against his skin, warming his cheeks and leaving his mouth dry. His head seemed to empty out every thought and word, until the only thing he could focus on was the man before him, smiling affectionately at his prized companion.

Captivating, plain as one could ever be.

“Do you prefer choosing for yourself, or would you like my recommendations?” Lysandre asked, turning his attention back to Sycamore, “Not that I could really recommend one thing over the other. This is my café, after all.”

“…I’d like dessert,” Sycamore replied slowly, making sure every syllable didn’t come out a squeaky mess. Lysandre’s focus was predominantly targeted at him, but if he had picked up on Sycamore’s sudden, anxious disposition, he made little effort to show it, “And something hot…with just enough espresso to get me home.”

“You don’t want any real food?” he asked, crooking a brow, “You just said you and your charmander haven’t eaten much, and honestly? It seems like you need a good meal or three.”

 _Honestly, how can you say such teasing things without actually teasing_ , was what Sycamore really wanted to say, but opted for the politer option, with a polite smile to match, “Then surprise me, _monsieur_.”

“Good,” Lysandre replied, “Then, Paul, are you paying attention? Professor Sycamore will have the quiche lorraine with a side of onion soup, and I’ll have the beef bourguignon. And to drink, two cups of café crème with an extra shot of espresso in each.”

“Yes, sir,” the waiter, Paul, scribbled the order onto a thick pad of paper, his fingers shaking as though his job depended on the very order. It probably did, now that Sycamore contemplated it, “Your drinks will be out shortly.”

“Thank you, Paul!” Sycamore said as the young man left, hoping it encouraged him to shake off his nerves. He turned back to Lysandre, “Your employees are stupendous. Very charming.”

“I hope so,” Lysandre replied, “They’ve had a few weeks to work the kinks out – and I did train them.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Sycamore continued on, though he was almost sure by now that Lysandre wouldn’t mind much, “Why did you open this café? It seems like you have a lot going for you, especially with the holo casters being produced.”

“You’re definitely not the first person to ask that,” Lysandre said, leaning back into his chair and strumming his fingers against the table, “Though I find I have yet to give a truly satisfactory answer, considering those reporters keep asking…but there’s not really much to say on the subject. I like coffee, I know other people like coffee, and I like giving…and making people happy. And I’ve been told I have a gift in the culinary arts, so I figured I could make something of them.”

“That’s a satisfactory answer, for me anyway,” Sycamore replied, “And having not one, but two gifts that you can utilize for the pleasure of others is a real blessing. It’s really quite remarkable.”

Lysandre stiffened, similar to the way when Sycamore had linked their arms together, “Thank you, professor. That means a lot, especially coming from someone of your caliber.”

Sycamore wanted to retort, suggest that his compliments were mere flattery, but he found that he couldn’t. Because, simply, Lysandre seemed to mean every word he said. And if he said Sycamore was on par with the famed professors across the globe, there was little choice but to believe him.

Paul approached the table about a minute later, serving their drinks as delicately as shaky hands could. Sycamore thanked the young man once more, encouraging him to smile and ease up.

“And I bet the young woman at the register will say yes, if you bring her flowers,” Sycamore suggested when Paul’s eyes darted back to the waitress a fourth time, “I’m sure she’s impressed already.”

The young man paled, his gaze flickering over to Lysandre in tense horror. When Lysandre didn’t say anything (or look at him at all, really), Paul stammered their meals would be coming out soon and scurried back into the kitchen.

“…You don’t have anti-fraternization here, do you?” Sycamore asked as he picked up his cup, taking in the scent of sweet cream and brisk espresso, “I find such rules can lead to much more trouble.”

“No, we don’t,” Lysandre replied, taking a long sip his cup, “I thought the boy was just overeager to please. Been that way since I’ve hired him. He’s also helps out the labs for college credit, and so does she.”

He pointed over to the waitress behind the register, cleaning up the littered breakfast bar, “Her name’s Jeanne. Smart…and a little self-absorbed. But she and Paul are both good workers, so I hired them on the spot. They like helping and giving as much as I do. And I respect that, greatly.”

“Does she like him?” Sycamore inquired, waving to Jeanne as his eyes met hers. She smiled back, pulling loose hairs behind her ear before she turned away to greet a family of four.

Lysandre scoffed, “Why are you so interested in the love life of my employees? I thought we were supposed to talk about your work.”

“Probably because I don’t have one of my own,” Sycamore shrugged, finally taking a sip of the coffee Clarice had raved about. It was hot and sweet, rich with flavors that he couldn’t quite described. Perhaps his assistant would need more than a bouquet…

“That’s….strange…” Lysandre trailed, taking another sip of his café crème.

“Why do you say that?” Sycamore asked, “Lab work _does_ keep me busy.”

“Well, it’s just not…” he seemed to struggle to find the words, his eyes darting from Sycamore to the magazine rack near the entrance of the café, “…it’s just not what the papers have suggested.”

“You read – _you_ read gossip columns?” Sycamore couldn’t help it this time. His laugh burst across the room, even catching the attention of the lovestruck couple in the corner. Louis soon joined him, apparently not above snickering at his owner’s expense, “Wow, Lysandre, I never would have dreamed of that!”

His companion waited for their laughter to die down, his lips pursing into that almost-pout he had on the first time Sycamore saw him. Only, up close, it was definitely cuter, “It’s not what you think, professor. I have to order a variety of magazines and papers for my customers, and occasionally, when I’m bored…I go through them.”

“That’s what they all say,” Sycamore grinned, “But, since we’re on the subject – what _do_ they say about me? I haven’t looked since they suggested the actress Diantha and I had a summer fling when she was sixteen years old.”

Lysandre appeared as though he didn’t particularly believe Sycamore, but voiced no such comment, “They tend to interpret you as an eccentric ladies’ man. Someone who has women wrapped around his finger, but ‘ _doesn’t have the heart_ ’ to choose one. A wild over exaggeration, I’m sure, but I have found tabloids often have a thin layer of truth hidden in them, somewhere.”

“So you think I am a bit of a ladies’ man?”

At the question, Lysandre’s eyes flickered from Sycamore to Jeanne, and the faintest of smirks graced his handsome face, “Considering how quickly someone like Jeanne met your request…I’d say yes.”

Before Sycamore could reply, Paul burst back into the room from the kitchen, holding a large plate in each hand. He didn’t seem as nervous as before, but his cheeks remained flushed, and it was apparent he was doing his best to avoid all eye contact with the curious Jeanne.

“Your orders, _monsieurs_ ,” Paul said with a steady voice, placing each of their meals before them, “I…I really hope you enjoy them.”

“Thank you, Paul,” Lysandre replied, “We could use more coffee, by the way.”

“Yes, that would be wonderful,” Sycamore agreed, “And you should really give my compliments to the chef – this looks amazing!”

“I will – ” the boy paused as the trio heard Jeanne giggling from the register, watching while Paul continued on. His blush quickly traveled down to his collarbone, and his voice caught at the roof of his throat, breaking at every other syllable, “Right away, sir! Will do!”

When Paul vanished into the kitchen for a third time, Lysandre gave way to an exasperated sigh, narrowing his eyes at his pasta dish, “Maybe I shouldn’t schedule them together anymore.”

“Oh, don’t do that!” Sycamore said, “That would take the fun out of it! And besides, they’re not together yet, so you don’t have much to worry about – except _really_ awkward flirting.”

“I suppose so,” Lysandre sighed again, picking up his fork and taking a hearty bite of his food.

Sycamore followed suit and took a sip of his onion soup, satisfied that it was a wonderful blend of salty and sweet. And the quiche lorraine melted into buttery, meaty goodness the moment it reached his lips.

A soft, comfortable silence fell upon the pair of men as they continued to eat. Which, when he dwelled upon it, was strange for Sycamore. He often liked immersing himself in the noise of his labs or the city streets below his office. The world around him felt alive, vibrant in those instances, and it made Sycamore feel less alone.

But this silence between them, even when there were others in the café mingling and joking around, made Sycamore…well, content.

Lysandre finally spoke about halfway into their meal, while Sycamore fed bits of his quiche to Prince Charming, “I hope this is a sufficient time to discuss your research.”

“Sure,” Sycamore replied, though if he wanted to be honest, he could say he was no longer in the mood. The majority of his thoughts revolved around insignificant questions about Lysandre’s daily life: when did he like to have his morning coffee, where was his favorite place to walk in the city, what book was he currently reading. There had been times before when one particular person in a crowd or a boutique had captured his interest, when he would imagine what their life was like and how much love they could hold in their heart.

 But this…this was the first time he could recall that one person speaking back.

“What would you like to know, _mon ami_?”

The rest of the evening played out as Sycamore expected, once conversation about his work began. Lysandre asked detailed questions about his research, varying from his developments on evolutionary theory and his pokeball redesigns. Sycamore answered as precisely as he could, even as he felt himself grow distant from the conversation. He loved his work, he loved being a professor and teaching children; he really did.

He just wondered if that was all Lysandre saw him as.

 _You’re being foolish. Again_ ,  Sycamore berated himself when Lysandre stopped his onslaught of questions to finish off his meal, _You just met him – of course that’s all he sees you as_. _Just a professional acquaintance who he thinks is really into women…_

This dinner, this story, was starting to feel all too familiar, and Sycamore didn’t feel like eating much after that.

“It’s getting late,” Sycamore announced, looking to the clock hanging above the restrooms, surprised that he wasn’t really lying. It had been three hours since he had left his lab, and the view outside indicated the sun had long set. Perhaps he could visit and cook for Bonnie and Clemont tomorrow, “I apologize, but I believe it’s best if Charming and I headed back to the lab.”

“You don’t want dessert?” Lysandre asked, looking to his murkrow napping to the table beside theirs, “You seemed adamant about it before.”

Sycamore considered, for a moment, that Lysandre might be stalling for time. That, perhaps, he enjoyed his company, and that it wasn’t all about –

 _Who am I fooling?_ Sycamore choked down a bitter smile, _Of course it is_.

“I’m afraid I can’t eat another bite!” Sycamore chuckled, pointing to the few scraps of food scattered across his plate, “Really, that’s a compliment. Your chef has definitely done his job.”

“I’ll tell him,” Lysandre replied, motioning for Sycamore to stand up with him, “Dessert will have to wait until next time.”

Despite his previous thoughts, Sycamore’s heart thumped at the frank remark, “Next time?”

“I did say I planned on visiting your lab, professor,” Lysandre said, “I could make something and bring it over sometime this week, if you’d like.”

Visiting his lab? Bringing over dessert? That sounded like ( _a lot like_ ) something a lo –

“That would be…great,” Sycamore cut his thoughts off before his imagination drifted away, into places it really shouldn’t. He’d been down this road before: Lysandre was being friendly – it was just another way to establish a healthy, professional relationship, “And in return, I’ll give you a tour of the lab. I think you’ll – oh wait! I forgot the check. I’m so sorry, where are my – ”

Lysandre cut him off with the faintest of touches, fingers brushing over his shoulder, “It’s on the house. Your company was payment enough.”

His company…his _company_? “Are you sure? I could at least leave a tip.”

And for the second time that night, a shadow of a smile graced Lysandre’s face, and Sycamore found it pointless to argue further, “Of course, I’m sure.”

He walked Sycamore and Prince Charming out of the café, asking about his schedule throughout the week. When Sycamore suggested he come during his lunch hour, Lysandre agreed, and he thanked the professor for an insightful evening.

“It was pleasure, professor,” he said, shaking his hand with a strong grip.

“Oh, the pleasure was all mine,” Sycamore didn’t want to beam, didn’t want to sigh as Lysandre pulled away and waved goodbye. But he did – and he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed with himself, “I’ll be seeing you soon!”

On the way home, he realized they had not exchanged numbers and Sycamore had not given him directions. Maybe, then, nothing would come of this. Which could be fine; he didn’t really mind. There were many methods one could use to cope with regret and wistful fantasies.

“It’ll be alright,” Sycamore resolved, clutching Prince Charming close to his chest, “I still have you and the others. Everything will be fine.”

It took him another hour to realize, as he ascended the stairs to his studio apartment, he had forgotten his beret.

\-----------------

Obvious continuation hook is obvious, haha…I think I really _am_ going to try and hack this story out, seeing as I already have the general outline down.

Also, talk about something that just didn’t want to end. I could’ve easily made this over 8,000 words, but I had to cut the conversation _somewhere_ , or else I feel like I would have bored any reader.

And now, some notes:

  * This takes place about two to three years before the main events of Pokemon X & Y. Unlike some of the fandom, I don’t think Lysandre and Sycamore have known each other since childhood/high school/college/what-have-you. Rather, I feel like they both met as professional colleagues of their respective fields and went from there. And, honestly, I think it’s more fun that way. Two mature adults with consistent personalities that know what they want is right up my romance alley~
  * And as for their personalities, I’ve tried to keep them in line with the game canon while still leaving some room for growth, considering that even though they are adults, three years is quite a substantial amount of time and people do continue to change throughout adulthood.
  * As of the starting point, I feel like Sycamore is relatively the same except that he struggles through feelings of inadequacy and thoughts of being alone. The game canon states that Sycamore gave up on his dream to harness the power of mega-evolution at a young age, and I think that plays into his research in its earlier years. Also, (now heading into headcanon territory) having been praised for a majority of his life on his looks and charm, he’s never too sure when someone genuinely means their compliments, and so he usually opts for the “safer route” of ulterior motivation.
  * For his sexuality, I tried my best to imply that Sycamore really isn’t into women and that all his past attempts at romance with a man didn’t come into fruition because, well, they were straight (or at least he sincerely thought they were). He has had flings, but most of them didn’t last past a month or two.
  * And for Lysandre…let me just say I really like writing him because in-game, he is so frank and straight-forward with people, it’s almost cringe-worthy (especially when he was talking to Diantha, like wow man, can you do your best not to sound like a huge creep right now?). He’s the type of guy who, nine times out of ten, doesn’t filter out what he thinks. But since he’s wicked smart, most of what he does say is often complimentary to the person he’s talking about, even if it can come off a bit too strong (like I tried to show in his initial meeting with Sycamore). Currently, he doesn’t see the world or most of its inhabitants as thrash – for the most part, he just wants to give to others as best he could and provide them with resources for a better life. He does despise moochers and stealers, however (I could have made the scene a bit more obvious, but Lysandre really doesn’t like Louis digging through the thrash because of that prejudice).
  * As for romance and his sexuality, Lysandre has never really explored it because he didn’t have much interest in it. He went through puberty, yeah, and occasionally crushed on a person, but he does not see much appeal in having a love life. In-game, I feel like one could argue he’s either asexual or thinks very little of his sexual identity.
  * Oh, and Team Flare doesn’t exist, but Lysandre is blueprinting for the underground labs. I figure he would have a lab around the city so no one would get suspicious as to where his products are coming from.
  * Paul and Jeanne are characters I made up on the fly, and they’re probably going to stick around. Whether they join Team Flare or not, however, remains to be seen.



I think that’s enough for now. I’ll try my best to post the second chapter within the next week. This is going to be a slow-burn for a lot of reasons (I mean just look at the notes – how am I supposed to fit those two personalities together in a chapter or two), so don’t expect anything hot and heavy too soon. But, I hope you enjoyed this super-long-why-wouldn’t-it-end first chapter, and that you look forward to more!

 

 


	2. You're Right There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysandre is presented with a rare opportunity, and its discovered in a forgotten beret.

“Did you have fun, boss?” Jeanne beamed as Lysandre reentered his café, her hands bunched up in the pockets of her apron, “You seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

“I did,” was Lysandre’s casual reply, “I wish I could have picked his brain some more. His theories on evolution are exquisite.”

“Some more?” her eyes bulged, looking from him to the clock, “You were talking to him for more than two hours! That’s like a class at the university.”

“Then perhaps I need a semester,” Lysandre said, making his way to the back of the register. It was almost closing time, and being a relatively new café, people weren’t inclined to drop-by at the last minute, “There’s only so much you can go into over dinner.”

“So…you’re going to try and talk to him again, right?” Jeanne bit at her lip, stare darting back to the table he and Sycamore had occupied only minutes before, “Could I…maybe, join you next time? If it’s off the clock?”

Lysandre frowned while he grabbed the calculator next to a stack of napkins, “Your interest, I hope, is strictly academic?”

Jeanne jumped at the veiled accusation, but she quickly regained her composure, cheeks blossoming red with anger, “Of course! Why would it be anything more?”

“He seemed to take a bit of an interest in you,” Lysandre shrugged, “And you like reading those gossip columns more than Paul.”

“Not more than you,” she shot back, receiving a curt glare in return. She giggled at his expression, and threw her hands up in mock surrender, “Kidding, of course! But, really boss, he may be the number one bachelor in all of Luminose City, but, you know…he’s kind of old? Not terribly old, but I wouldn’t dream of dating him.”

“I’m about his age; I think a few years younger,” Lysandre said, tapping away at the keys on the calculator. It seemed like today had been more profitable than the last few. He distantly wondered why that was, “Where do I fit in on your scale of eligibility?”

“Add in the fact that you’re my boss, and you’re probably worse off than the professor,” Jeanne replied without hesitation, making her way to the espresso machines with a bottle of cleanser and a clean towel, “It would never work out between us.”

Lysandre rolled his eyes as she smirked, “Indeed it wouldn’t.”

“But, I would still love to learn a little from him,” Jeanne mused out loud, and waved goodbye as the last of their customers departed from the café, leaving just the pair behind the bar and Paul….wherever he was, “It would be wonderful to hear about how evolution works from an expert, and since Felicia evolved last week, I want to really understand why.”

“Felicia evolved into a meowstic, correct?” Lysandre asked, “You haven’t brought her in like you promised.”

Jeanne smiled, a touch more sheepishly than usual, “Yeah, I know. It’s lame – but I just keep forgetting! And I don’t know how she would act at the café now, especially if Louis is here.”

“Tell me when you want to bring her, and I’ll have Clovis come along with me instead,” he suggested as he finished off his calculations. They had made a decent profit, and all the money was accounted for, “She seems to like his company, and Louis has been acting childishly these past few days…”

He trailed, his stare redirecting from the countertop to the table his murkrow slumbered on, scattered crumbs spread across his beak and the dark red linen. Still, had it not been for him, Lysandre wouldn’t have met Professor Sycamore under such… _unusual_ circumstances. And despite his stern veneer, he’d be lying if he denied enjoying the man’s quirky behavior.

 _All over some beret_ , Lysandre thought while his eyes wandered from Louis to the table they had occupied. He had been speaking the truth to Sycamore – he had had every intention of visiting his lab and setting up an appointment sooner or later. Just…the grand opening of the café, the late nights spent blueprinting the basement flo –

“He left it,” Lysandre said, narrowing his eyes at the hat hanging at the ends of Sycamore’s chair, “After all that trouble, he left it.”

“Left what, boss?” Jeanne hummed from behind him, washing her hands before she started on sweeping the floors.

He didn’t answer her, walking from out of the bar and towards the table, stare glued to the dangling beret. How odd that he would forget it, when he’d been so relieved to find it before. Perhaps the rest of the evening had distracted him?

He picked up the beret with the whole of his hand, bunching up the dark blue cotton beneath his fingers. This posed a bit of a problem. Neither he nor Sycamore had suggested exchanging phone numbers, and it was much too late to run after him. He could return it when he planned on visiting, but waiting that long would feel rude. And Lysandre simply couldn’t take that chance, not with such an opportunity on the line.

“Hey!” Jeanne exclaimed from the other side of the room as the kitchen doors flew open. Shoes skidded and squeaked across the tiled floor, and Lysandre turned around to see Paul holding a mop and a bucket of water, “Where have _you_ been? I told you – today is your turn to clean the restrooms!”

“I was helping Marcelle out with the dishes,” he mumbled, his face and neck taking on a pinker shade in mere seconds. Lysandre didn’t think a blush on Paul could be so noticeable given his dark skin, but it seemed when it came to Jeanne, his body betrayed him in all the worse ways, “I’ll do the restrooms right now.”

Jeanne gave him a look that read of suspicion, but she held her tongue, shrugging and turning back to her duties in the dining area. With a sigh, Paul dragged his feet to the restrooms, his nose already flaring from the smells he might endure.

The commotion between his two employees stirred Louis from his slumber, a low chirp vibrating against his throat while his eyes opened. He blinked a few times before catching Lysandre standing above him, looking over his pokemon curiously.

“Professor Sycamore left his beret, Louis,” he said, ruffling the feathers on top of Louis’s head, “I guess it didn’t mean as much to him as I thought.”

Louis cooed, pointing his beak up at the beret as though expecting it for a new toy. Almost appalled by such a gesture, Lysandre pulled the beret close to his chest, furrowing his brows, “We _have_ to give it back to him – he’ll figure out he forgot it, eventually.”

“That’s Professor Sycamore’s beret, boss?” Jeanne asked when she came through their aisle, sweeping up the dust and crumbs that had accumulated over the evening, “The one Louis took?”

“Indeed it is,” Lysandre replied, “I have little experience in returning forgotten pieces of clothes to new acquaintances, however.”

Jeanne chuckled, “Just give it back to him tomorrow! No harm done in that.”

“Tomorrow?” Lysandre turned his stare back to the beret, watching it scrunch up and wrinkle in his gloved hands, “That would work…and we did make plans to meet sometime this week.”

“Then it’s settled!” Jeanne exclaimed, “Piece of cake for a wicked smart guy like you, boss.”

 _Piece of cake…that’s right,_ he thought, her words reminding Lysandre of his promise to bring dessert. He had meant to ask what the professor typically liked, but like all of his other inquiries, the question vanished from his thoughts as their conversation wound down. It was strange, almost, considering he wasn’t one to forget such dire information like phone numbers.

The rest of the clean-up hour continued on, with few words exchanged between the three co-workers. Marcelle bid goodnight from the kitchen, the slam of the back door indicating his leave. Meanwhile, Paul mopped up the floors and Jeanne wiped down the tables, barely acknowledging the other as they passed.

When the labor was complete (a full twenty minutes ahead of schedule), Lysandre did one more thorough check over his café, making absolutely sure it was fit to open tomorrow morning. With a small smile and a brisk nod, he said, “Great job. Everything is up to code. You may leave.”

“Sweet,” Jeanne replied, “Felicia will be happy – by the way, boss. Can I bring her on my next shift?”

“You may,” Lysandre answered, “And I’ll keep my word to bring Clovis.”

“Can I bring my houndour then, sir?” Paul asked, “Despite what they say about them in the news, he’s really gentle – and he gets along with cat pokemon just fine!”

“I don’t mind. As long as you both do your work and keep your pokemon friendly with the customers, there should be no problems,” Lysandre said.

“Cool,” Paul grinned for what seemed like the first time that evening. He looked over his shoulder to say something to Jeanne, but his eyes soon widened as he saw her saunter towards the exit, “H-hey, Jeanne, wait up!”

The waitress whirled her head around, a haughty look stretched across her lips and brows, “Yes, Mr. I-want-to-bring-my-pokemon-too?”

Paul swallowed thickly, and took a deep breath, “Could – could I walk you home?”

Her self-important demeanor melted within moments, a flash of genuine affection flickering across her face as she replied, “Oh… _oh!_ Sure, Paul. That would be just fine.”

She turned back to Lysandre, nodding, “Bye, boss. Hope tomorrow goes well.”

“Thanks,” he waved back, “Goodnight.”

A few steps later, and they vanished out of sight.

 _Does she like him?_ Sycamore had asked.

And although he didn’t know terribly much about the professor outside of his studies, Lysandre wondered how much Sycamore would have enjoyed that scene.

The walk to his apartment was, as always, short.  His quarters resided at the ends of Magenta Plaza, near the entrance of Route 13. He could have easily bought out the penthouse a top the complex where he leased his café. Could have bought out the entire building, really. But, considering he had already leased out two buildings on Autumnal Avenue for his labs and the basement floor of the café’s complex for… other experimentation, he had decided against it. No need to rile up the reporters further. What he had was certainly enough.

“We’re home,” Lysandre announced as he opened the door to his apartment, “I hope the both of you kept busy.”

At his arrival, quick steps ran across the wood floor, and a squeaky trill could be heard from the back of the kitchen. Louis flicked the lights with his beak, illuminating the small, tidy hallway. Soon enough, Clovis, Lysandre’s mienfoo rushed into their view, jumping off of the floor and into the arms of his owner.

“I see you missed me,” Lysandre said, scratching underneath Clovis’ neck, “Did you and Francis get along?”

Clovis nodded, smiling and pushing into the touch of his owner’s hand. Louis hovered above him and chirped incessantly to his friend, most likely communicating what happened at the café. One particular chirp caught Clovis’ attention, and the mienfoo pulled away, digging his paws into the center of Lysandre’s palms. He trilled at Lysandre, his tone much more curious than jovial.

“Gossip is unbecoming, Louis,” Lysandre eyed his murkrow before putting Clovis back onto the floor and walking towards the bedroom, “And to ease your curiosity, Clovis, I met an important man who might be able to help us down the road. He also forgot the beret Louis stole, and I was hoping you would accompany me to his lab tomorrow.”

The mienfoo squeaked in delight while Louis protested, flapping his wings inches away from Lysandre’s face. He sighed, “You have little to complain about, Louis. You’re lucky Sycamore was gracious, or else I’d be keeping you here for a week. Maybe inside your pokeball.”

Louis quieted at that, letting out one low grumble before flying off to his coop in the living room. Clovis teetered at Lysandre’s side when he swung the door of his bedroom open, taking in the sight of his pyroar, Francis, napping at the end of the bed.

 _Already asleep_ , Lysandre thought, _He didn’t use to sleep so much_ …

Then again, that had been years ago, when Francis had been an energetic, frantic litleo. Most of his childhood had been spent with the pokemon in one way or another, be it outside in his parents’ garden or snoozing beside him as he studied for an upcoming exam. Francis had evolved almost immediately after Lysandre’s graduation from university, and he had wondered since then what had triggered it, why then, why there, etc. It was after his school studies he had stumbled onto theories of evolution, and articles about a new researcher revolutionizing the field.

“Sycamore’s my best shot,” Lysandre whispered to himself, trying to roll out the tension in his stiff shoulders.

Maybe with him, he could solve the riddles of this imperfect world.

\-----

Lysandre’s alarm went off at four-thirty the following morning, giving him a total five hours of sleep. After a hot shower last night, he had made another set of miniscule changes to his blueprints for the basement floor. There was just so much that could be done in that vast of space, and Lysandre wasn’t one to waste valuable resources. Besides, he could get along fine if he had a shot or two of espresso before work.

He dressed into a pair of black slacks and a long-sleeve, buttoned-down shirt, pulling back the cuffs of his sleeves until they were secure around his mid-forearm. To complete the ensemble, he hitched on a pair of slim, black suspenders to his slacks, and gave himself a quick look over in the mirror hanging above his dresser. Presentable, clean, and modern – his ideal.

Francis was awake and drinking from a bowl of water as Lysandre walked into the kitchen. At his owner’s presence, the pyroar raised his head to meet Lysandre’s eyes with a deep purr, nudging at the tips of his fingers.

“Good morning, Francis,” Lysandre greeted, “Did you sleep well?”

Another purr escaped him, and Francis soon returned to his water.

The rest of his morning routine proceeded as usual from then on: grabbing a croissant from the kitchen counter, swallowing it down with a cup of strong, black coffee; flicking on the television for a few minutes of morning news while sliding on his polished shoes; leaving ample amounts of food and water for his pokemon throughout the day…it was business as usual, for the most part. Occasionally, his thoughts would wander off into the potential opportunities this afternoon could bring him, but he tried his best to shake off such whims. Nothing was set in stone – Sycamore could be a great accomplice in his goals, but there were certainly others who were just as qualified.

 _Still_ , Lysandre mused, _They wouldn’t be the best_.

“We’re leaving,” Lysandre said as he and Clovis walked down the hallway, Sycamore’s beret tucked into his coat pocket, “Can you promise to behave while I’m gone, Louis?”

His murkrow remained in his coop, ruffling his chest feathers at the question. With a flap and a nod, he turned away from his master.

“Still mad at me, I see,” Lysandre turned to Francis, “Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”

Francis closed his eyes and nodded.

“Good,” and after a quick stroke of Francis’s mane, Lysandre opened the door and headed off to the café.

Lysandre alternated his schedule between the labs and the café. While he enjoyed a steady routine, he found it would be unfair to his employees if he only contributed his time to a portion of them. It was an attempt to be flexible, to break out of his rigid comfort zones. And it seemed as though his employees appreciated his attention, working all the more harder; be it experimenting at the labs or serving coffee in the café.

If he was willing to give, so were they. It was a pleasant, beneficial cycle that Lysandre had no plans of ending. And, as fortune would have it, today he had scheduled himself for the morning shift at the café, meaning he could bake something for the professor during his downtime.

That is, if fate blessed him with such a luxury.

For when he opened the doors to the café that morning, he was surprised how quickly customers of all walks stepped in to order. Many were new faces, from professional businessmen to teenagers on their way to school. Some even picked up a menu and sat themselves down, waiting to be served a full breakfast. Never one to understaff, Lysandre had scheduled one cook and two waiters for the morning shift. It seemed, on this rare occasion, he could be thankful of his cautious nature.

“Ooo, a mienfoo!” a young woman cooed as she approached the counter, looking over to Clovis while he helped prepare drinks with one of the waiters, “And he looks like such a smart one. Is he yours?”

“He is,” Lysandre replied, “and a good morning to you, miss. What would you like?”

“You know, I’ve been meaning to catch one, but they’re habitat is out on the coast!” she exclaimed, ignoring Lysandre’s question, “Figures all the cool pokemon are miles away – oh, and you know, I’ll have a white chocolate mocha with a chocolate croissant, please!”

“Will that be all?” he asked, not too interested in her idle chatter. At least not today: there were about seven customers behind her, and it seemed like a couple outside the shop were intrigued.

“Yep, here’s my card,” the woman handed him her credit card, “But, you know, we _are_ pretty close to the power plant, and I’ve heard gible live in that area. They’re just so cute, you know…”

 Lysandre ran the card and waited for it to process, tuning his customer out in favor of thinking about his own dragon-like pokemon, swimming away in the tanks on the level floor of his labs. Hopefully, his assistants had already fed and given him proper attention. He could get antsy, especially when Lysandre didn’t come in the morning.

“…and I would love to own a garchomp one day, just like Professor Sycamore!”

“Come again?” Lysandre snapped out of his thoughts, “Professor Sycamore has a garchomp?”

“Sure does!” the woman exclaimed, “My classmates and I took a tour of his lab a few months back, and that garchomp was incredible, and so gentle! She’s like a mama to all the other pokemon at the lab. Professor Sycamore said they’re using her for his evolutionary research. Pretty exciting, huh?”

“It sounds like it,” Lysandre agreed, handing back her card with a receipt, “Do you follow the professor’s work?”

“Of course – who doesn’t in Luminose, really?” she chuckled, “He’s our number one celebrity! In fact, he’s the reason I came here today.”

“Really?” Lysandre furrowed his brows, “How’s that?”

“ _The Daily Glam_ had sources say he came here last night, and he seemed to love the coffee and the company. The owner of this café, I believe! You should tell your boss – I’m sure he’ll love the publicity.”

“…Will do,” Lysandre replied, and thanked the woman for her business as she walked over to a spare table to wait for her order. It appeared she didn’t follow his work, at least.

 _Not like it matters_ , Lysandre thought while taking the order of the next customer, _the less spotlight, the better_.

The conversation did cement his assumptions about the professor and the city, however. It seemed he had more fans than he’d imagined, and they were willing to try anything he approved of, including coffee at a new café. Customer after customer entered his shop, each buzzing with excitement and anticipation. Intelligent, amiable, _and_ popular…

That power, if tapped correctly, could prove more valuable than Lysandre had previously realized.

“Geoffrey, do you mind taking over the register for a few minutes?” Lysandre asked the waiter primarily taking orders for the tables, “Sera should be coming in soon – tell her to cover you when she gets here. Marie can take out the orders while you’re at the register.”

“Sure thing, boss!” the scraggily boy, just old enough to work, jumped at the chance to prove himself, “I’ll get right on it.”

“Thank you,” he replied, making his leave from the bar and towards the kitchen. He only had an hour or so before Sycamore’s lunch. If he wanted to impress, he’d have to start baking now.

When he entered the bar, his eyes directed their attention to his lone cook, Marie, whipping eggs for an omelette. She smiled brightly when she caught sight of him, “Good morning, sir! I was wondering when you’d stopped by.”

“It’s been busy,” Lysandre said, heading over to the pantry for flour, sugar, and salt, “I haven’t left the register since we’ve opened.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Marie replied, “This is the first time since we’ve opened I feel a little rushed. Claude is scheduled to come in around noon, right?”

Lysandre collected the items he needed from the pantry, and shut the door with his elbow as he reentered the kitchen, “Correct. Perfect timing, considering I’ll be leaving.”

“To the labs?”

He shook his head before he set his ingredients on a small space away from Marie’s cooking area, “I won’t be going over until later today. I have an appointment of sorts with Professor Sycamore, and I promised him I’d bring dessert.”

“…That’s cute,” Marie paused, looking her boss over with a little more scrutiny, “Why’d you promise that though?”

“Because he couldn’t eat anymore last night,” Lysandre replied as he opened the fridge and skimmed the shelves for milk, butter, and eggs. He decided to make a crepe cake – something relatively easy to handle and package, “And he seemed to regret it, so I assume this will make him happy.”

“Wait, boss,” Marie’s eyes widened, “I’m confused – we’re you on a date last night?”

 _What_.

Lysandre whipped around, giving her his full attention, “Why would I – it wasn’t a date, as you call it. Professor Sycamore happened upon this café yesterday evening, and we shared a meal. That doesn’t constitute a date, I believe.”

“Oh, okay,” Marie nodded, letting out a large breath, “Sorry, I just – it just sounded a lot like a date when you were talking about it.”

“How so?” Lysandre asked, “I didn’t think having dinner with another professional was basis for a date.”

“It’s not. It’s not at all, sir,” Marie’s tan cheeks brightened, and she started fiddling around with the waffle maker to her right, “I was just – I was really confused when you said you were bringing him dessert. It’s kind of like what....”

Her voice hesitated, and she opted to fill pour her whipped omelette batter into a simmering pan.

“Kind of like what, Marie?” although somewhat irritated that Marie couldn’t tell the difference between a date and a meeting amongst colleagues, Lysandre was nonetheless intrigued. Perhaps this, bringing Sycamore dessert unannounced, wasn’t the best course of action to take, “I’m interested in your opinion on the matter.”

“It’s nothing, sir, really,” she plastered on a smile, not quite looking him in the eye, “I was just being dumb, honestly. Forget I said anything – I’m sure Professor Sycamore will love if you bring him dessert.”

“All right then,” Lysandre shrugged it off, starting to focus his attention on mixing the dry ingredients into a large bowl. She was uncomfortable, and Lysandre didn’t like his workers unhappy, “You should probably take a break when Claude settles in. Take a walk around the block, get some air.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and she continued on with her cooking.

The two were quiet for a few minutes more; Lysandre did his best to prepare the dessert in a timely (and qualitative) manner, while Marie finished off three meals for one table.

“And you’re not dumb,” Lysandre broke the silence, startling his employee as she flipped over the waffle maker, “I wouldn’t have hired you on if you were.”

Marie didn’t say anything, but when he turned around to spread the crepe batter onto a hot skillet, she smiled, and the bounce in her step returned.

\--------

Lysandre left the café thirty minutes later, giving himself another half hour to walk over to Sycamore’s lab. The cake came out as well as he could have hoped, and they had had just enough chocolate pudding to spread over the eight layers of crepes. He would have added whipped cream had the trip been shorter, but opted for confectionary sugar instead.

Clovis walked alongside Lysandre, his mere presence on the street receiving various compliments. The young woman had been right, he supposed. Mienfoo were rare in Central Kalos, and were not often kept as companions, regardless. Luminose City loved its dog and cat pokemon too much to ever give enough attention to other types.

“You seem to like the attention,” Lysandre looked down at his mienfoo, watching it wave at a trio of young women heading towards the train. Their collective ‘ _awww!_ ’ sent Clovis in a fit of giggles, practically skipping as they continued towards Southern Boulevard, “Perhaps we should go for walks more often.”

At the mere suggestion, Clovis squealed.

When they finally made it to the labs, ten minutes of Sycamore’s lunch hour had already passed. Lysandre blamed both the traffic and Clovis’ endless onlookers, but it still gave him a good chunk of time to present Sycamore the crepe cake and his forgotten beret before (hopefully) receiving a quick tour of the labs. His appointment was unannounced, after all, and he wouldn’t expect much else.

The lab was three stories tall and was gated, two large stone pokeballs carved into the entrance. The lawn was trimmed, and outlined with a variety of roses and tulips, providing a warm, welcoming atmosphere. Compared to his lab entrance (cold, black marble, his logo a top the entrance, highlighted in a searing red), he could see why people would opt to visit Sycamore’s lab on a regular basis.

“Hello, sir,” the secretary said as he and Clovis walked up to her desk, “May I help you?”

He wasted no time, “My name’s Lysandre, head of Lysandre Labs. And I came to return the beret of one of your researchers, Professor Sycamore. He left it at my café, and I was hoping I could give it to him in-person.”

“Oh, so _you’re_ the guy he met last night,” the secretary emphasized, flickering her eyes over his face and shoulders, “The papers were right – your hair is awesome.”

He crooked a brow, “Thank you?”

“It’s a compliment, and you’re welcome,” she smiled, and pointed over her shoulder towards the elevator, “He’s on the third floor, down the hall on the right. Name’s on the door; can’t miss him.”

“Thank you,” Lysandre said again, “Enjoy your afternoon.”

“You too,” she replied, her smile a touch more genuine than before.

The elevator ride was short, and the walk down the hall even shorter. Soon enough, Lysandre and Clovis found themselves in front of Sycamore’s door, closed with a sign that read ‘ _Salut!_ ’ underneath his engraved name. He was about to knock when he heard two voices laugh from the other side, one Sycamore’s and the other unmistakably female. 

 _Why are you so interested in the love life of my employees?_ Lysandre remembered asking him last night.

 _Probably because I don’t have one of mine own,_ Sycamore had sighed.

 _Yeah, right_ , Lysandre scoffed. He wasn’t very fond of liars, but he could let it slide this time around. Not like the information was terribly important, anyway. If anything, it just meant Lysandre’s previous assumptions were correct.

His knock against the glass was louder than he had wanted, but the laughter soon ceased, and Sycamore’s voice rang from the other side of the door, “Come in!”

Lysandre did as he was told, turning the knob and pushing the door open. His eyes took in the many pictures of various pokemon hanging against the white walls, and the bookcases littered with a variety of books, magazines, and figurines. A little cluttered, but otherwise pleasant.

The professor’s face was turned away from the door when he stepped in, his hands rummaging around some drawer behind his desk. He was dressed in a lab coat, the sleeves folded to the crook of his elbows. A young woman also in a lab coat sat to the right of his desk, and she smiled politely when she met his gaze.

“Ah, here it is!” Sycamore exclaimed, throwing one hand into the air, clutching what looked like a photograph, “Now, Clarice – you have to promise not to laugh – I was still trying to prove I could grow a beard then, so while Eponine is _adorable_ as a gible, I look like one of those, what do you call them again…”

Sycamore twirled around, his lab coat flying up like a skirt as he leaned in to hand the picture over. But, just as he was about to say something, he caught sight of Lysandre and he visibly jumped and paled, pulling away from Clarice and slamming the photograph into his chest.

“Lysandre!” Sycamore exclaimed, his gray eyes widening as if he couldn’t believe the younger man stood before him, “What a surprise! I wasn’t expecting you at all – at least not today.”

“I apologize for any inconvenience,” Lysandre replied, walking up to his desk, “But you left your beret yesterday, and I felt compelled to return it to you, considering your incident with Louis.”

“My…beret?” Sycamore blinked while Lysandre pulled out the hat from the right pocket in his slacks.

“Yes, along with dessert. As promised,” he said, extending out his arm, the brim of Sycamore’s beret held by his fingertips, “I hope you like crepe cake.”

“You brought dessert too?” with his free hand, the professor pulled the beret from Lysandre’s grasp, looking it over as though, like the man before him, he couldn’t believe was actually there, “A cake? When did you find the time to make it?”

“I made the time,” Lysandre shrugged, “And I didn’t want to come by empty-handed.”

“That was – ” he cleared his throat, and burst into a huge smile when he stopped, cheeks taking on a healthy glow, “That was very thoughtful, Lysandre! Thank you; you really are one of a kind….oh! And before I forget –”

He turned his attention to the young woman, “This is Clarice, one of my many amazing assistants. She’s the one who recommended your café, and I couldn’t be more thankful. Clarice, this is Lysandre, the owner of the café and Lysandre Labs.”

Clarice stood up, fixing her glasses before holding her hand out, “Hello, sir. I’m pleased to meet you. Your café’s fantastic! My boyfriend and I absolutely loved it. We’ll definitely be going back.”

“Thank you,” Lysandre replied, taking her hand and shaking it, “I’m glad a smart young lady like yourself would enjoy my café.”

The young woman seemed taken aback, and she chuckled nervously as their hands parted, “You’re welcome.”

“And who is this handsome devil?” Sycamore inquired, walking out to the center of the room to get a better look at Clovis, one paw clutching at Lysandre’s pant leg.

“This is Clovis, my mienfoo,” Lysandre replied, watching as his companion sniffed out the professor, “He’s fairly young, maybe three at most. I caught him last year, while visiting the coast with my mother. He’s well-behaved, but a little more energetic than Louis. Clovis, this is Professor Sycamore, the man I met yesterday.”

At his last comment, Clovis trilled and stepped away from his owner, grabbing onto the ends of Sycamore’s lab coat. He threw one arm up and stood on his tip toes, stretching his arm as far as he could.

“What a darling pokemon,” Sycamore beamed, throwing his beret and the photo onto his desk, bending over to scoop the mienfoo up into his arms, “And his coat is so clean! It’s practically shining. Isn’t he adorable, Clarice?”

Clarice leaned in, one hand hovering over Clovis’ stomach, hesitant, “He doesn’t seem at all like what the studies I’ve read indicated. They’re supposed to be a bit vicious.”

Lysandre’s brow creased at the accusation, taking in Clovis’ mewling against Sycamore’s chest. _His_ mienfoo? Vicious? If Clovis was in any way vicious, what would that say of him?

“You forget that’s in the wild, Clarice,” Sycamore corrected his assistant before Lysandre could, his gray eyes catching Lysandre’s as he continued, “When caught, pokemon learn from their trainers and grow from their experiences with one another. Some researchers even believe the stronger the bond, the more the pokemon will become like the trainer themselves.”

“Oh,” Clarice bit her lip, embarrassed, “Right; I forgot.”

“No worries,” Sycamore gave her a reassuring smile, raising Clovis just enough so her fingertips found his fur, “You’re still learning after all, and having never been a trainer, it’s something you have yet to experience. But like I said before, you’re more than welcome to request a starter pokemon to keep as a companion.”

“Thank you, professor,” Clarice returned his smile, rubbing her fingers against Clovis’ belly. The mienfoo giggled, and wound his paws around Clarice’s thin fingers. Her smile stretched wide, and her eyes took on a brilliant shine. But when her gaze drifted off towards Lysandre, she shrunk away yet again, pulling her hand back and clearing out her throat, “I apologize for what I said before, sir. It was rude.”

Lysandre was inclined to agree and reprimand the girl for her poor word choice, but he suspected that wouldn’t be the best route to take, considering his main objective. Instead, he nodded and smoothed out his face, making it look as polite and patient as possible, “Apology accepted. It’s like the professor said – you just need the proper experience.”

“Thank you,” Clarice said, clasping her hands together before turning to Sycamore, “I’ll make a formal request then, professor. Today, after work.”

“ _Tres bien!_ ” Sycamore exclaimed, “This is wonderful, Clarice. I’m so excited for you!”

The young woman laughed, and was about to say something else before her eyes wandered over to the clock, noticing the time. It was almost half past twelve, and from the way she paled (for the third time? In five minutes?), Lysandre assumed it had something to do with her break, “Oh, I have two minutes to clock in! Uh – excuse me, professor! Mister Lysandre, sir! I should be going now. I’ll see you later!”

And before Sycamore could protest, Clarice zipped out of the room, flying past the open door and into the hallway.

Leaving Lysandre and Sycamore, for the most part, alone.

“She’s pretty fast,” Sycamore said, blinking a few times, “She did that to me yesterday, too.”

“Probably just nervous,” Lysandre replied, “Younger people usually are.”

“You would know, right?” the professor grinned, “All those kids running around your café – did Paul settle down after I left?”

“Well, actually –”

“Wait, don’t tell me yet!” Sycamore exclaimed, handing Clovis back over to Lysandre and making his way into a cabinet on the right, “We can talk over dessert! I’m sure you and Clovis are hungry after your walk over.”

“A little bit, yes,” Lysandre admitted and took the seat Clarice had occupied, waiting as Sycamore grabbed some plastic plates and forks from the top shelf, “Though, professor, I was hoping to have a brief tour before you have to return to work.”

“A tour?” Sycamore handed him a plate and a fork, “Of course, _mon ami_. But not until we after eat. Besides, you took some time off for me. It’s only fair I do the same.”

Huh – he hadn’t thought of it like that before, “Yes…I guess it is.”

“Now, would you like to do the honors?” he presented him the handle of a cake knife, “It is your cake.”

Despite himself, Lysandre felt his lips twitch into an almost smile, and he grabbed the handle, “My pleasure.”

The professor was nothing but compliments during their meal, his gushing ranging from the superb quality of the cake to Clovis’ trimmed claws. For most of the meal, Lysandre simply nodded and thanked the professor, not knowing what else to do but accept the praise. His approval _was_ what he had sought from this meeting. And it wasn’t like he had much to contribute to a conversation about his own cooking and pokemon without sounding like an ass.

“Okay, okay,” Sycamore said between one particularly large bite, “You have to tell me what happened when I left. Did our friend Paul make a move on the lovely Jeanne?”

“In a way,” Lysandre shrugged, looking down at his near empty plate. Deciding he’d had enough, he lifted his fork and fed the remainder to Clovis, the mienfoo delighted as the flavors hit his tongue, “He asked to walk her home, and she complied. As you said last night, it seems they’ll be awkwardly flirting from now on.”

Sycamore covered his mouth with his free hand and _giggled_ (were men in their thirties still capable of making such of sound?), his eyes taking on a vivid sheen, “That makes me happy to hear! Hopefully they’ll invite me to their wedding.”

Lysandre crooked a brow, “He walked her home, professor. There’s not much to celebrate yet.”

“A man can dream, can’t he?” Sycamore sighed, setting down his plate, “It’s better to hope for the best than to expect the worst.”

And though he didn’t agree, he held his tongue ( _had to_ hold his tongue) and instead said, “Yes, some would say that.”

Sycamore caught on faster than Lysandre expected (or at all), “What would you say, then?”

He didn’t miss a beat, “That you can only hope for as much as you have today, and it’s your choice if tomorrow is to be any better.”

“A realist,” Sycamore cocked his head to the side, and grinned, “As I expected.”

“One has to be if they want to survive,” Lysandre said, “Such a philosophy keeps me grounded.”

“Well, if I was the owner of my very own lab and café, I’d probably try to ground myself too,” Sycamore stood up, and threw away his empty plate in a small trash can under his desk, “But, fortunately, I’m not. So I can keep my head in the clouds as long as I like.”

Lysandre frowned, “But you’re the top researcher in Kalos. Surely you need some kind of realistic perspective.”

“…I do,” Sycamore admitted, his voice growing soft, “but only when it comes to other parts of my life. My research, though? An _entirely_ different story. The possibilities involving pokemon are endless – and as a man of many limits, I’ll try to discover all I can.”

It was in those words, precise and resolute, that Lysandre could see bits of the professor he had previously imagined. Someone who understood his limitations, but sought out the truth of the world regardless. Someone who could persuade, who knew how to lead.

 _I wasn’t wrong about you_ , Lysandre thought, satisfied.

But the image soon faded in the seconds after, and Sycamore was back to an airy joviality, patting Clovis on the head while extending his other hand towards Lysandre,  “My lunch break is just about over – you and Clovis are more than welcome to shadow me for another hour or so.”

While he didn’t need it (and really, he had five inches and maybe fifty pounds over the man),  Lysandre took his hand anyway, his fingers wrapping around the sides of his palm. With a surprising amount of strength, Sycamore helped him off his seat, and pulled his hand away as soon as Lysandre stood at full height.

The sigh that escaped the professor was slight, like it had been last night when he departed the café. It was a bit perplexing, but Lysandre thought little of it. Maybe the man just liked holding hands.

“What would you like to see first?” Sycamore asked as he closed up his office, “The garden out back is home to abandoned and orphaned pokemon from the city. Maybe Clovis would enjoy that?”

“I was hoping to take a peek at your garchomp, actually,” Lysandre admitted, “Though I’m sure we can swing around and look at the garden after that.”

“You know about Eponine?” Sycamore stuffed his hands into his pockets after he pressed the elevator button, “How much useful information are in those gossip columns anyway?”

“I’m unsurprised you remember that,” Lysandre sighed, crossing his arms and entering the elevator as it opened, “And I, in fact, did _not_ read it from any magazine. A customer of mine brought it up and I wanted to see for myself.”

Sycamore chuckled, raising one leg up to press the second floor button, “Whatever you say.”

The elevator ride was short, and it soon reopened, revealing various machinery and researchers at work. A cluster of lab coats huddled around one machine suspending several types of pokeballs in the air. Each pokeball held a squirtle inside, as indicated on the screens next to the suspension tubes. To the right of that machine, an older gentleman and Clarice were tinkering with a device, tools scattered on every corner of their station. And in the center, stood what Lysandre assumed to be Sycamore’s garchomp. She was attached to a machine that surrounded her body in yellow light, and a screen beside the machine read her vitals, IVs, and abilities. There were other, smaller stations throughout the vast floor, but Lysandre found he couldn’t care much for any of them.

“The group over there is working on enhancing the abilities of the pokeball, and what they can do for the pokemon while inside,” Sycamore explained, gently taking Lysandre by the arm and leading him around the lab. Like before, Sycamore didn’t ask; and like before, Lysandre didn’t mind as they moved along. Touch wasn’t something he fussed over, despite others assuming otherwise. It had caught him off guard at first, last night. But Lysandre prided himself on adjusting to almost any situation, and this was no exception, “And where Clarice is standing – hi, Clarice! – she and one of the veteran researchers are looking at improving pokeradars, so that trainers and researchers alike can more accurately find the specific pokemon they’re looking for – complete with nature and some base stats! And, finally…”

Sycamore trailed, stopping in front of the machine his garchomp was standing on, “This is where we study megaevolution!

“How you doing, girl?” Sycamore asked Eponine, rubbing the front of her snout, “The testing going well?”

The garchomp grunted, leaning into the professor’s touch. At the sight of another pokemon, Clovis peeked out from behind Lysandre and walked up to greet the garchomp.

“How does it work?” Lysandre crossed his arms, inspecting every corner of the machinery he could take in, “And how do you know your garchomp might have the power to megaevolve?”

“Good questions,” Sycamore left his side and picked off the large, crystal-like stone suspended in air next to his garchomp. When he pulled it away, some of the stats on the screen vanished, “Basically, in order for this machine to work, we need both a pokemon who has the potential to megaevolve, and we need their corresponding stone.”

The professor extended his arms out to Lysandre, giving him a better look at the stone. The stone was a deep purple, and sharply reflected the bright ceiling lights. In the center of the stone was a yellow symbol that resembled the markings on the garchomp’s snout, with a splash of red almost identical to the shade on her stomach.

“As you’ve probably figured out, the stone, in both color and symbol, correlates to Eponine,” Sycamore leaned in closer, his face taking on the same look he had in his office, “We created this machine a few months back to make certain that she reacted to the stone, and vice versa. And she does, but…”

“But?” Lysandre didn’t mean to bend over until he was practically inches away from Sycamore’s face. The professor, however, was talking in a low voice, almost entranced by the stone in his hands. Really, Lysandre didn’t have much of a choice, “If your garchomp and the stone correspond to one another, shouldn’t that be enough for her to megaevolve?”

“Not exactly,” Sycamore shook his head, “There’s some other pieces we need. The pokemon needs to be strong enough to endure the megaevolution because, unlike other forms of evolution, it’s not permanent. They’ll revert back to their original, final evolution eventually. And in order for them to be strong enough, they need a trainer who can push them to their potential – at least, that’s what I theorize.

“Also, the trainer needs a megaring , a device that can seemingly correspond to every megastone in existence. Currently, we only know of three: two can be found in Shalour City at the Tower of Mastery, and one has already been claimed by the Gym Leader Korrina. Another, found around Victory Road a few years back, belongs to the Champion and actress Diantha. However, she has yet to find a stone that correlates to any of her pokemon. As of now, Korrina is the only one capable of megaevolution with her lucario. And, as you know, one study sample isn’t enough.”

“So, what about the third one?” Lysandre inquired, “It doesn’t sound claimed. Can it be lent out, so you can solidify your theories?”

Sycamore didn’t answer right away, turning his back to Lysandre and placing the megastone back into suspension. While their conversation had been taking place, Clovis and Eponine trilled and snorted a lively discussion amongst themselves, a few researchers even observing and taking notes. At the silence of her master, Sycamore’s garchomp grunted in his direction, and he rubbed her snout in response.

“No, it can’t,” Sycamore said, and his words carried a weight Lysandre hadn’t thought the man capable of, “They’ve made their decision pretty clear.”

Knowing when and how to read in-between the lines, Lysandre asked no more questions after that.

As all things of value, Sycamore’s trust and answers had to be earned.

After Sycamore finished a short conversation with one of the researchers at the station, he bid farewell to Eponine and beckoned Lysandre and Clovis to the back of the second floor, where a balcony and staircase waited outside a sliding door. They passed through and descended the stairs, and what Lysandre saw made his pokemon squeak in joy.

The entire back of the lab was essentially a pokemon playground, covered by a thick glass dome extending from the roof of the lab. A stream ran through the middle, with a pond taking up the entire upper left corner. The border of the playground was lined with various trees, each known for harboring several different kinds of pokemon. A bridge connected the two plots of trimmed, green grass, and a gazebo stood at its center. And of course, various pokemon ran around the vast yard with plenty of toys to keep them engaged. There was even a trio of litleo playing amongst a pair of shinx with a large, red ball.

He couldn’t help it; he smiled.

“Have fun, Clovis,” Lysandre said to his eager mienfoo, “I’ll stay with the professor.”

Clovis didn’t even bother with a hug or a goodbye. He scrambled away from his owner and ran into a small gathering of other fighting pokemon, including another mienfoo.

“Looks like he’s already having fun,” Sycamore commented, hands back in his coat pockets and eyes looking at anything but Lysandre, “The fighting pokemon here are all pretty friendly, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Clovis can hold his own if he needed to,” Lysandre replied.

The professor nodded and started walking into the yard, greeting every pokemon with an enthusiastic hello. He didn’t ask Lysandre to follow, but he did regardless. There was nothing else to do, and he didn’t want to look like some doting parent if he stood too close to Clovis’ group of new friends. He could meander towards the litleo and shinx, however. A few of them were turning their heads his way, no doubt admiring his mane of red hair.

His eyes flickered back to where Sycamore had been standing, and discovered he was gone, a few oddish and ledyba in his stead. Lysandre skimmed the yard until he found the professor sitting in the gazebo, looking out to the pond at the far end of the yard.

 _Well_ , Lysandre thought, _you’re not going to have another chance like this_.

He walked up the bridge, and paused when he reached the entrance of the gazebo. There had to be something he could say, so their meeting didn’t end like _this_. Lysandre realized he might have asked the wrong questions, too fervent to learn the secrets of things that Sycamore didn’t even know. And, he had unexpectedly hit a sore spot, something he would never uncover the truth of if he didn’t think of anything to say.

 A memory of an old magazine clipping flashed across his mind. About a young professor hoping to turn the back of a lab into a haven for abandoned pokemon. Lysandre had been twenty-three, nestled inside his parents’ winter cabin in Snowbelle City. It was around the time he would venture off into Route 15, and find a murkrow willing capture for Lysandre’s antique pocket watch.

“…This was your idea, right?” Lysandre asked, taking another step towards Sycamore, “A safe place where deserted pokemon could play – be happy?”

Sycamore nodded, and turned his attention back to Lysandre, gray eyes thoughtful, “It was. When I first came to Luminose, this yard was used for the study of hidden pokemon abilities, as well as the techniques they could eventually use and what they could be used for. We didn’t receive much funding for it, however – Hoenn and Sinnoh were ahead of our research at the time, and most sponsors flocked to them as a result. And being the largest city in Kalos, we had a large population of stray and abandoned pokemon. Still do.

“In the wild, pokemon can live absolutely fine on their own, but a city environment is…something else. Something that a pokemon without an owner might not be able to endure. So, I wrote up a proposal to the city, and they funded the project.”

“That’s quite an achievement,” Lysandre replied, “Especially for a junior researcher.”

“That’s what everyone said,” Sycamore grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes, “The city started taking interest in me after that, and they handed over a good sum money to invest in other projects. And…I really haven’t done much since.”

And when Sycamore turned away again, his shoulders slouching and hair practically wilting against his ears, Lysandre decided he couldn’t play the diplomat. There was only so much self-pity he could take. Where was the man of endless possibilities from the office? The professor happy to explain, in impressive detail, every experiment happening in the labs _he_ was head of?

Lysandre didn’t like pathetic people, and the Professor Sycamore he had read about was anything but.

“Why would you lie to someone who’s read almost every article you’ve ever written?” Lysandre asked, startling Sycamore with his frank tone, “I admitted as much to you last night. Did you forget?”

Sycamore blinked, a sliver of his former self returning to the surface, “No, I didn’t. But, I’m not really ly–”

“You revolutionized an entire field of studies,” Lysandre cut him off, one of his hands curling into a tight fist behind his back. This was absurd – was this man really trying to deny his contributions to the scientific community? All because some foolish ( _selfish_ ) city wouldn’t give up their antiques for a day? “So what if you don’t have any concrete results when it comes to megaevolution? You have all the pieces in place, there’s very few holes in your logic – all you need is some ring, and you’ll have the power to prove your theories. I’m sure more rings are out there, and if there’s not, the Champion doesn’t seem like she would bow out of an opportunity like this. I thought that’s what you were looking for – opportunities, possibilities.”

When he didn’t respond right away, Lysandre assumed he had gone too far, his chances squandered. Yet he didn’t feel much regret, if that was the case. Maybe Sycamore was the kind of man who couldn’t move past his previous failures, lost in the what-if’s and could-have-been’s. And men like that were useless: if they couldn’t accept the past, how could they ever hope for success in the future?

He was about to stalk away, beckon Clovis and just leave, when Sycamore began to laugh, his eyes welling up with tears. It puzzled Lysandre, but he stood still and waited for the professor to come to his senses.

“ _Mon dieu_ ,” Sycamore breathed out as he finished laughing, standing up with a wide smile stretched across his face. This time, it most definitely reached his eyes, “You’re the first person in a _long_ time to speak to me like that.”

Lysandre frowned, “How do people usually speak to you?”

“Honestly?” the professor heaved a sigh, “Like I’m not real.”

A beat passed between them.

“Well, if you’re ever in need of a reality check,” Lysandre replied, his words crisp, “Let me know.”

Another beat passed.

“Did you just – ” Sycamore threw one hand out of his pockets and pointed at him, eyes narrowing in disbelief, “Did you just crack a joke?”

Lysandre resisted the urge to smirk, “I am capable of humor, sometimes, believe it or not.”

The professor beamed, and then – giggled? _Snorted_? “And here I thought you were some humorless professional. Forgive me for thinking otherwise.”

“Apology accepted,” Lysandre returned the professor’s smile, and the professor giggled (snorted? what _was_ that?) again.

Their meeting came to a close twenty minutes later, as Lysandre soon realized (looking at the antique pocket watch that brought him Louis) he was an hour behind schedule. Clovis had to be dragged away from a spar with a machop, and his tight grip around Lysandre’s leg almost ripped into his slacks.

“Before I forget again,” Lysandre said when they exited the elevator on the first floor, “I need your number. You know, in case you lose any more berets at my café.”

“Two jokes in a day!” Sycamore exclaimed, “I must be lucky.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Lysandre replied, though he couldn’t quite hide his forming smile.

When he and Clovis finally left Luminose Labs, Lysandre felt… lighter, he guessed. It was small, but he had made progress. Professor Sycamore was close to becoming a valuable ally, and his wisdom and practicality could prove beneficial as Lysandre’s company flourished.

Today was bright, and tomorrow looked brighter.

He reached his lab an hour later. His employees were relieved when he entered the ground floor and pulled on a spare lab coat, acting as if he wasn’t late at all. Some even asked if he and Clovis were okay, offering to stay after hours to finish anything left undone.

But before he intended to his duties, Lysandre headed towards the large tank in the center of the ground floor, where a gyarados flailed at his return.

“Hello, Charles,” Lysandre greeted, “Sorry we’re late. Clovis and I had an appointment with someone important. I hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

Charles closed his eyes, and pressed his head against the glass while wagging his tailfins. Lysandre, in turn, pressed his palm against his side of the glass, placing it at the center of his crest.

“You would have liked today,” Lysandre said, “I told two jokes.”

\------

First off, I published this chapter on Halloween, so…Happy Halloween! Sorry it’s not very spooky.

Second, I originally planned on making this chapter a bit shorter, and surprise, it ended up being _3,000 words longer_. I’d cry, but it’s useless because I already cry about these two idiots anyway, so what’s the point really.

 _Anyway_ , just gonna head into the notes:

  * I got some feedback from some tumblr users, and I’ve decided Sycamore and Lysandre’s ages: currently, Sycamore is thirty-three and Lysandre is twenty-nine. And I haven’t decided, but their birthdays will probably be an even six months apart from one another. So, Sycamore is four and a half years older than Lysandre in this.
  * The reason this chapter turned out much longer than I originally planned is because I _really_ want to ground Sycamore and Lysandre in the world they’re living in. I want them to have relationships outside of one another. And, especially since this is a slow-burn, I feel like this story would be so boring if it was just about them thinking about the other 24/7. This is supposed to be a gradual love (well, at least with one of them), so I want that change to be seen in all aspects of their life. Besides, I find platonic interpersonal relationships fascinating, especially when they’re the opposite sex!
  * Clarice will be sticking around as a supporting character. She is what brought Lysandre and Sycamore together, so Sycamore will tend to favor her more than his other assistants from now on.  Also, Clarice’s design is based on the black female researchers in the Luminose labs.
  * And while we’re at it, Paul and Jeanne’s designs are based on the Pokemon Ranger trainer class, because I love adorkable interracial couples~
  * Everyone probably knows where Sycamore’s past with the Tower of Mastery is going to lead towards (…maybe), but that being said, please refrain from guessing in any comments. Nothing too spoilery – unless it’s through a PM.
  * Garchomp and the lab’s backyard are adapted from the anime. I loved both ideas tremendously, and I feel like both can give greater depth to Sycamore (and backstory, because like Lysandre, he almost has none besides like two tidbits you find out from random NPCs).
  * I’m wondering if anyone can guess the theme for Lysandre's pokemon's nicknames. Sycamore’s should be pretty obvious the more we move in the story, but Lysandre’s not so much (unless you say ‘they all end in s,’ because then the answer is _no_ ).
  * Lastly, if you haven’t listen to what Sycamore sounds like in the English Dub, _go do that right now_ because I freaking love his voice in the dub, and it’s definitely how I hear him in my head as I write.



That’s about it for now. I hope you guys think I kept Lysandre interesting – it was really difficult to write from his POV at times (and also writing him interacting with his pokemon, jesus). Whereas with Sycamore, I feel like I have a much better grasp on his character. Hopefully, it’ll get easier for me, because this story would be really bland if I didn’t put things in Lysandre’s perspective at least half the time.

Alright, I should have the next chapter out within the next two weeks, or sooner. Depends on how long it is…if you want, leave a comment! I would love to hear what you have to say :3


	3. Instant Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sycamore isn't sure how to handle his developing feelings, and decides to visit two of his favorite people in Centrico Plaza.

He couldn’t even last a day.

No one noticed much of a difference. At work, Sycamore was just as often excitable as he was attentive towards any particular task. He’d skip, he’d hum, he’d even whisper out a song or two if he was in the mood.

But this – this feeling pressing against his ribs and curling around the corners of his lungs – it felt like he was about to burst.

Lysandre had visited the very next afternoon. Not even twenty-four hours had passed when the younger man opened Sycamore’s door with ease and grace, as though he didn’t find their situation bizarre. As if he thought it was typical to return a stranger’s beret in-person, along with a handmade dessert that, with just a glance, could make Sycamore’s mouth water.

It was, without a doubt, Sycamore’s favorite visit to date. He couldn’t believe all that had transpired in the last few hours. And best of all, his fingers continued to twirl around the slip of paper Lysandre had handed him at the end of his visit. The one with his number and the invitation to call.

_We should set up another appointment like this soon_ , Lysandre had said, his blue eyes reflecting well off the clear sky above, _I would like to look around the other stations. And you’re welcome to stop by my labs when you have the time_.

_That invitation extends to the café as well, I hope?_  Sycamore replied a little too earnestly, his smile beginning to stab into the folds of his cheeks. The slip of paper was behind his back, his fingers pinching it against his lab coat.

Lysandre hadn’t hesitated, the corner of his lips trying to suppress a smile, _Of course. You’re always welcomed there_.

The younger man and his mienfoo walked off after that, vanishing into the traffic of the busy Southern Boulevard. Sycamore stood there for another minute, his mind tingling and reeling with thoughts he couldn’t quite recollect or solidify, before turning his back onto the street and returning to his work.

Since then, no matter how much he examined this or tested that, his memories of their early afternoon together continued to loop over his eyes, fogging his vision and muting the voices around him. So in order to give _some_ attention to the research surrounding him, Sycamore hummed and skipped and even sang, thoughtlessly plucking away at formulas and procedures he could perform in his sleep. Which, to be honest, wasn’t completely far off to his current state of mind.

It felt – it just felt so unreal. Someone being that kind to him, without asking for anything in return but his company…

“Professor?” Clarice’s voice snapped through Sycamore’s haze, and she pressed her glasses to the bridge of her nose when he whipped around, his eyes focusing back onto her and the table she stood at, “Is something wrong? I was trying to tell you about the progress reports on the radar Dr. Belcourt and I made today. We actually fixed some of the bugs from the last test run and would like to test it in the field next week, if you approve.”

“Oh…yes, Clarice, I’m perfectly fine,” Sycamore grinned, doing his best to process her words. That was exciting news for the both of them. For the past year, Dr. Belcourt had attempted to improve pokeradar technology. And, if their fieldwork proved to be successful, Clarice would receive credit on the enhancements. He was truly happy for them; at least, he wanted to be, “And of course, I’ll sign off on your fieldwork request. Just have all the necessary paperwork prepared tomorrow – there’s quite a lot of it for such a thing!”

Clarice smiled back, the worry from her brows beginning to fade, “Thank you so much, Professor Sycamore. The doctor and I won’t let you down…oh! I almost forgot.”

She searched her coat pockets until her slim fingers latched onto a folded piece of paper, slightly crumpled from the day’s labor, “Here’s my request for a starter. I’m sorry if it’s a little smudged…I was kind of excited when I wrote it out.”

“No need to apologize, my dear,” the professor took the form and looked it over. Everything was filled out except… “You forgot to write down which starter you want, Clarice.”

His assistant shrank a little, picking at the ends of her nails, “Well, I’m…I’m not exactly sure which pokemon I want, professor. I was looking over the six we have in the labs and I just can’t seem to pick one over the other.”

She blushed as she made eye contact with him again, “I was hoping you would help me decide, if it’s not too much to ask for.”

Sycamore’s face softened upon her reaction, recalling Lysandre’s words:

_Probably just nervous. Younger people usually are_.

_I wonder if he was like that…when he was younger_ , Sycamore mused before replying to his assistant, “I would be honored, Clarice. Why don’t you wait for me on the first floor and we can hop on over to Café Soleil to discuss it over some coffee and galettes?”

“That would be wonderful!” Clarice exclaimed, but the brightness in her eyes quickly faded and she bit at her lip, “Oh, wait – I forgot. I’m meeting my boyfriend after work. It’s his day off from the dojo, and he wanted to go out and eat at –”

“If he doesn’t mind a third wheel, I would love to tag along,” Sycamore interrupted, already gathering his belongings, “Besides, I’ve yet to meet him. He’s in desperate need of my blessing, if he knows what’s good for him.”

Clarice blinked, and then giggled, cheeks blossoming into a healthy shade of pink, “No, he won’t mind at all. He wants to meet you, too.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Sycamore asked, taking Clarice by the arm and dragging her out of the office, “I know this great hole-in-the-wall near Café Soleil – has some of the best foreign dishes, and it’s pretty cheap too!”

Clarice laughed again, “Okay, professor!”

She chose a playful froakie the next morning, and named her Hanabi.

\-----

It took him another day to realize he’d been trying to impress Lysandre.

His emotions had been churning throughout the entirety of Lysandre’s visit, and he hadn’t had much time to process what that truly meant during or after work. Sycamore had only replayed the memories in his head, often lingering on what Lysandre had said, what he wore, how he looked at his pokemon. Never had the professor tried to decode _his_ actions, his words….

_And I acted like such a fool by the end of it_ , Sycamore thought with a sigh, signing off on the forms that had piled up throughout the day. Usually, when a group of kids or foreigners visited the labs, Sycamore presented himself with energetic professionalism – happy to guide and escort, maybe joking for a minute or two. But his attention would always draw back to the experiments and testing at hand.

With Lysandre, however…his eyes had been unable to keep off the other man, well-dressed and absorbing all the information thrown at him. He and his mienfoo had been nothing but polite and respectful the whole time, and Sycamore reveled in the attention. And then, of course, Sycamore’s mood dissipated the moment he started talking about Shalour City and their Tower of Mastery; it only worsened when Lysandre asked if there was any possible way the third megaring could be lent out.

_He couldn’t have known_ , Sycamore tightened his hold on the plastic pen between his fingers, his handwriting stiff, _He couldn’t have possibly known about_ …

Just the memory of that city, of his time spent in that tower with Eponine –

_“It’s not enough, Augustine,” Gurkinn’s voice resounded throughout the tower, his posture upright and lips drawn in a thin, straight line, “You’re willing to learn, and so is your pokemon. But – I can’t let you use the megaring.”_

_“What?” Sycamore’s eyes widened, the whole of his body hot, humiliated, “That doesn’t make any sense, sir. If we’re both willing, why can’t –”_

_“You don’t have the heart of a trainer,” the older man’s words cut through Sycamore, leaving his mouth dry, “You may be willing to learn, but you don’t have the will to put your pokemon through the stress of megaevolution. Your bond is strong, but it isn’t strong enough. You, simply, do not trust her enough to endure.”_

_“That’s – that’s not true!” Sycamore stammered out, his heart pounding against his ears, “I trust Eponine. I – I love her! You have to let us try!”_

_“My decision is final,” Gurkinn said, “There is nothing for you here, Augustine. Go back to your studies.”_

Sycamore wasn’t ashamed to admit he had begged, practically cried at the man’s feet to let them stay. Didn’t he realize what he could do with that power? What it could mean to the scientific community if he let him try, _once_?

No; his shame stemmed from his inability to look Eponine in the eye throughout his entire plea.

Because he knew, even then, Gurkinn had been right.

Another sigh, shaky and dry, escaped Sycamore as he signed off on the last form, his fingers sore. At least Lysandre had picked up on his discomfort. And he had, in a way most wouldn’t, cheered him up.

“Well, maybe cheer isn’t the right word,” Sycamore said to himself as he packed up for the day, making sure all of his essentials were inside his coat pockets. His cell and keys often landed in a different pocket every day, and while Sycamore had tried to grow out of that habit before, he soon discovered such organizational skills eluded him.

He made quick work of exiting the labs, only pausing momentarily to bid goodbye to his secretary. His watch read 5:15, which meant he had ample time to walk on over to Centrico Plaza and visit Bonnie and Clemont. Sycamore hadn’t forgotten his promise to the siblings, and his stomach churned in guilt when he realized their last conversation had been over a week ago. A sincere apology, a reasonable excuse would usually suffice just fine, but Sycamore didn’t particularly like lying to children. Especially one as rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed as Bonnie. If they asked, they deserved to know the truth. And the truth was, well….

_Distraction_ , Sycamore thought, _Distracted by a man I hardly know_.

It wasn’t like something similar hadn’t occurred before. His tales of infatuation were more than abundant. Getting lost in the eyes of a tourist, recalling the laugh of a visiting professor…Sycamore knew all too well what this was the start of.

He only hoped there was enough time to stomp it out.

When he arrived at the backdoor of the Luminose Gym, Sycamore did his best to will all thoughts of Lysandre and his developing crush. Bonnie was quite perceptive for a first grader, and she tended to fuss over the professor if she believed him to be upset. This visit was all about the children, his moodiness be damned.

He rang the doorbell to the side and watched as the peephole at its center popped out, hanging by a thick silver cable. It hovered over the professor, and he smiled and waved back, “Hey, Miss Bonnie, Mr. Gym Leader! Guess who?”

A high-pitched squeal could be heard from the other side of the door, and a pair of feet ran against a marble floor. The cable retracted as the door swung open, tiny arms pulling it back. And before Sycamore could get out a word, a girl dressed in a yellow jumpsuit flew into his arms, laughing as he swung her around.

“Professor, you came!” Bonnie exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his chest, “I thought you forgot your promise!”

“Oh, I would never forget a promise to you, _mon chou_ ,” Sycamore assured, wiping the stray blonde hairs away from her eyes, “I’ve been… preoccupied the last few days, you see.”

“By work?” she asked.

He shrugged and smiled, “Kind of, yes.”

“Ahhh, it’s okay, professor!” Bonnie giggled, patting her hands against his chest, “Now that you’re here, you don’t have to worry about any dumb work. And guess what? Siebold’s here, too!”

Sycamore’s ears perked at the name, genuinely surprised, “Siebold? He’s visiting? I thought he was busy with the final candidates for that vacant Elite Four slot.”

Bonnie shook her head, “They finished a few days ago – she’s really pretty too, professor! I told Siebold he should marry her and he got all red. It was so funny!”

“Pretty, you say?” Sycamore’s grin grew, his interest piqued. He wondered if it could possibly be that girl from several years before… “Well then, he should marry her, shouldn’t he? Only the prettiest girl should marry your cousin!”

“Don’t encourage her, professor,” a curt voice replied from the hallway. Sycamore looked up and saw a young blonde man holding up a spatula, an apron with the words “ _World’s Best Chef_ ” printed in goofy cursive draped around his waist. No doubt it had been a homecoming present of sorts from the six year-old in his arms, “Or else I won’t be able to take her to the gala this weekend.”

“Ahhh, Siebold!” Bonnie frowned, her bottom lip pushed out, “I promise I’ll only ask her if she likes you once.”

“You should be promising not to ask her _at all_ ,” Siebold replied, his left eye twitching, “Please, professor; could you knock some sense into my little cousin?”

“How many times have I told you to call me Augustine?” Sycamore wagged a finger as he entered the hallway and shut the door from behind them, “I’ve known you since you were, what? Twelve, I think? If I can’t get you to do that one little thing for me, how am I going to discourage Bonnie from telling this new colleague about your little crush?”

Siebold’s cheeks reddened, clutching the spatula close to his chest as he stammered, “I – I don’t have a crush on her. I don’t even know her! She’s just pretty!”

“Oh, so she _is_ pretty?” Sycamore snickered, and he pushed his shoulder into Siebold’s while he walked towards the kitchen. Bonnie clasped her hands in front of her mouth, face pink from her excessive giggling, “This isn’t the same young lady you battled all those years ago, is it? The one with the pink hair and the, what did you say? ‘The heart of a lion?’ You _did_ say she was one of the candidates for the position.”

“ _I told you that in confidence_ ,” Siebold hissed as he shadowed the mischievous pair, “And like you said, that was years ago – almost five! I’m not eighteen anymore.”

“And she’s not seventeen,” Sycamore countered, “Twenty-two is a perfectly acceptable age for a woman to get married. Just think: you two could be the first battle couple of the Elite 4 – maybe of any region! That’s kind of romantic, right Bonnie?”

“Yeah, it is!” Bonnie agreed, leaning over Sycamore to beam at her moody cousin, “And you can have some babies, and I can have more cousins to play with!”

Siebold paled at the mention of children, and opted to glare at the floor, “Why are you even here, professor? I can’t fathom you left your research just to tease me.”

“I came by because I promised Bonnie I would,” Sycamore said, “But teasing you is definitely an added bonus. And your cooking, too.”

“Like I’m going to cook for you now,” Siebold scoffed, “The only one that deserves any of it is Clemont. _He’s_ a gracious host, and would never –”

“Hey, Clemont!” Sycamore called out into the living space, “What’s Siebold’s girlfriend’s name?”

“Malva,” a voice from a few doors out responded, “And hello, professor! I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Yes, that’s right. Her name was Malva,” Sycamore nodded as he ignored Siebold, seething, his knuckles white, “Remind me at dinner to tell you the story of how they met, Bonnie. It’s a pretty cute, minus all the swearing.”

“Okay!” Bonnie replied.

“I knew I should have stayed with my friend downtown,” Siebold muttered, trudging back into the kitchen to prepare the rest of their meal.

\-----

“So, you’re here for a gala?” Sycamore asked when the four settled down at the dinner table. Both Siebold and Clemont’s pokemon sat on the other side of the dining room, munching on specialty food, “To honor Malva?”

Siebold stiffened at the use of Malva’s name, but composed himself quickly enough, “Yes; we’ve had the event planned since last month, but we had to wait to announce it until we selected a candidate. It was a difficult decision. Any of the final candidates could have easily fit in.”

“So, other than being a pretty face, why did you pick Malva?” he asked while he served Clemont and Bonnie their salads.

“Her beauty had nothing to do with our decision, especially mine,” Siebold narrowed his eyes, nose flared. Oh, Sycamore knew that look – the boy had worn it the day they met. Then, Siebold had held little interest in training pokemon, his only desire to cook and entertain. But, even as a grad student, Sycamore knew Siebold had potential, especially considering his family history, “Some of her tactics on the battlefield may be overtly aggressive, but the way she and her pokemon battle is fluid, and she’s in-tune with their emotions just as much as they are. She’s truly a master.”

“What’s her specialty again?” Clemont piped up beside Siebold, fixing his oversized glasses for the fifth time that night.

His cousin’s face softened when he turned his attention to Clemont, despite the fact he was as much of a “traitor” as Bonnie and Sycamore were, “It’s fire. It’s a good addition to the –”

“Ooo, ooo!” Bonnie squealed from the other side of the table, practically tossing her steak onto the dark blue linen, “Is this a, uh, what’s It called, professor? Opposites attracting thing?”

“Yes, exactly!” Sycamore replied, and gave the girl a thumbs up, “It’s definitely an opposites attract scenario.”

“You know, their parents gave _me_ parental rights while they’re off on their research trip,” Siebold said, “I can kick you out at any point in time during this dinner and chalk it up to you being a despicable influence.”

“Oh, please don’t do that, Siebold!” Bonnie cried, clasping her hands together, “Professor only teases you because he loves you, just like he loves me and Clemont! Don’t kick him out.”

“It’s true,” Sycamore assured, widening his eyes and throwing Siebold a sardonic grin, “I just love you _so_ much, my dear Siebold.”

The younger man in front of him frothed, an angry red blooming across his cheeks and neck, “Just eat your damn meal, Augustine.”

“So you can say my first name!” Sycamore chuckled, “Who would have thought?”

“You’re making it exceptionally difficult to invite you to the gala,” Siebold replied, doing his best to chew his food as gracefully as someone at his caliber should, “I might have to retract your invitation.”

Sycamore blinked, “I’m invited?”

“Of course you are, professor,” Clemont answered for Siebold in-between bites of his pasta, “You’re a prominent figure in Kalos! You have to be there.”

“Yeah, yeah, you have to be there because I’m gonna be there too!” Bonnie nodded her head feverishly, her small fists grabbing onto his shirt, “And Siebold told me he’s getting me a dress from the boutique on Vernal Avenue and it’s gonna be so pretty! You _have_ to see me be pretty.”

“But you’re always pretty, _mon chou_ ,” Sycamore smiled as he ruffled the top of Bonnie’s head, “But technically, I haven’t been invited yet. Like Siebold said, he might retract my invitation.”

“Oh, he won’t,” Bonnie smiled back, “He’s all talk anyway.”

“I’m still here, Bonnie,” Siebold sighed. After another moment, he looked up from his plate and caught Sycamore’s eye, “But…since neither you nor Clemont would enjoy the gala very much if he wasn’t there…I guess I have no choice but to invite him.”

“Fantastic!” exclaimed Sycamore, saluting the younger man with two fingers, “I am truly humbled by your profound generosity, Siebold of the prestigious Elite Four.”

“You can stop with the flattery,” Siebold rolled his eyes, “And before you ask, _yes_ , you may bring a date.”

“Also fantastic!” Sycamore said, and before he could stop himself (before he could process what he was saying, where he was, the fact he had never mentioned him in his current company), he blurted out, “Maybe I’ll invite Lysandre. He might like it.”

A moment or two of silence covered the table, slight confusion flickering across the other three in his presence. The back of his throat started to itch and Sycamore gulped, understanding the evening was about to take a… _interesting_ turn.

“You’ve never mentioned a Lysandre before, professor,” Siebold was the first to reply, the corners of his mouth betraying his immediate satisfaction with Sycamore’s slip-up, “Please, do tell us: how did you meet him? I’m sure Clemont and Bonnie would _love_ to hear it.”

“He’s not like that fussy guy you brought over that one time, is he?” Bonnie cringed, pinching the roof of her nose at the mere memory, “I didn’t like him at all! He kept looking in the mirror to check his hair or something stupid.”

“Uh…no, Bonnie,” Sycamore nervously chuckled, the itch in his throat intensifying, “He is definitely _not_ like that man. That’s why I’m not with him anymore….not like I was ever to begin with.”

“You don’t mean…” Clemont trailed, the fork in his hand starting to wriggle, “The Lysandre from Lysandre Labs, do you professor? The one who’s producing the Holo Casters?”

Sycamore’s mouth felt parched and he snuck a quick look at Siebold, his smile as rascally as it was curious, before he nodded and answered, “Yes, Clemont. That would be him.”

Within seconds, the boy’s usual well-behaved and gentle demeanor vanished, and Clemont jumped out of his chair, eyes burning in enthusiasm, “I can’t – I can’t believe this! You know _that_ Lysandre! He’s – he’s my inspiration! Revolutionizing communicative technology, making it easier for scientists and inventors everywhere to collaborate on projects from thousands of miles away – he’s brilliant! I only hope to achieve half of what he’s capable of when I grow up.”

“Wow, big brother,” Bonnie giggled, “Maybe he should be your date, instead!”

Sycamore resisted the urge to laugh alongside the girl, although he was happy those few moments of impulse saved him from more embarrassment. Not like admitting his attraction to a man in this household was much news. Siebold and his young cousins were of the few Sycamore had entrusted with his preferences, though he never tried to keep such things a secret. A few of his co-workers suspected as much. Still, it was easier to let the city believe what they wanted; he much preferred the depiction of an eccentric ladies’ man over a luckless fool.

“I don’t want to date him, Bonnie,” Clemont clarified, unabashed by his sister’s accusation, “I just want to talk to him, get inside his head. Ask him the kind of questions only inventors can ask each other – maybe become his protégé!”

Clemont turned his attention back to Sycamore, and soon his disposition shifted back to a well-spoken, charming young boy, “Could you ask him, professor – to come with you? I promise to keep Bonnie as far away from you two as possible so she doesn’t interrupt your evening.”

“Hey!” Bonnie exclaimed, “I wouldn’t do that to the professor – just to silly Siebold.”

Before Siebold could retort, his eyebrows practically wriggling at his cousin’s defiance, Sycamore replied to Clemont, his grin forced, “I’m sorry to disappoint Clemont, but I’m not sure I can honor your request. I only met the man a few days ago, and…I don’t really think I interest him in that way.”

Like a light switch, Siebold’s face morphed from agitation to mild concern, eyes darting over Sycamore’s face, “It doesn’t have to be a _date_ -date, professor. Just invite him as a friend.”

Sycamore looked down at his plate, his focus on the half-eaten food blurred, “I don’t think that’s a good idea either….saying his name was a mistake, really. I just fancy him a little – I’m sure it’ll go away soon.”

“Ugh, professor, you really need to stop doing this to yourself,” Siebold scoffed as he leaned over the table, arms crossed and fingers tapping against the crook of his elbows, “Do you even know for sure if this Lysandre isn’t interested in men? You did say he was a recent acquaintance.”

“Yeah, yeah – what Siebold said!” Bonnie threw her fists in the air, “He might like you too, professor! And I bet he’s a hundred times better than that fussy man if Clemont likes him.”

“Well…” Sycamore trailed, considering his friends’ words. They were correct; he had just met Lysandre, and nothing the man had said or done indicated he was completely heterosexual. In fact… “He did bring me dessert at work the other day. Came unannounced, too.”

And for the first time since he’d arrived, Siebold smiled at the professor while Bonnie squealed and babbled on about how cute such a thing was, “I’m not about to make any assumptions, _but_ – if you were a woman Augustine, I’m almost positive everyone would be asking when’s the wedding.”

Sycamore returned his smile, his cheeks warm at just the thought that maybe – _just maybe_ – Lysandre’s visit could have been something more, “You think so?”

“Considering you and Bonnie are going to keep pestering me about Malva until I do find myself a girlfriend,” Siebold replied, smile still sincere, “Yeah. I do.”

 -----

The rest of the evening went by as pleasantly as Sycamore could have hoped; he laughed and ate with company he had sorely missed. Bonnie’s giggle was infectious, Clemont’s observations were insightful, and Siebold’s witty banter was the perfect remedy to the nervous bubbles wading at the pit of Sycamore’s stomach. Because in the moments their talk died down, opting to finish off their helpings of crème brulee instead, his thoughts lingered on the multiple routes his invitation to Lysandre could lead towards. What if he asked as a colleague, a friend? What if he implied it was more than that – a date of sorts? Would Lysandre pick up on the casual hint? Would he ignore it, cut him down, be appalled?

_It’s been awhile_ , Sycamore thought as he took another bite of the creamy, vanilla dessert dripping off his spoon, _Asking someone out, taking a chance…what’s it been? A year – two? Maybe that needs to change_.

He was supposed to be a flirtatious charmer, after all. Lysandre even suspected as much. Would he welcome it then, if such gestures were directed towards him?

Sycamore grinned, swallowing down the crème brulee, _Really – only one way to find out_.

“Ahhh, do you have to go so soon, professor?” Bonnie asked as he fastened the buttons of his coat, bidding the three blondes a pleasant evening, “We could watch _Eevee’s Corner_ together! They’re gonna end the feud between a zangoose and a seviper tonight!”

When he finished with his coat, Sycamore knelt down and pulled Bonnie into a tight hug, kissing the top of her forehead, “Maybe next time, _mon chou_. A new batch of starter pokemon are coming in early tomorrow, and I have to be well rested if I’m to give them a warm welcome.”

With a gasp, Bonnie pushed away from the professor at the news, her fists digging into the wool of his coat, “Can I come visit tomorrow then? I would love to see all the cute pokemon! Please, professor, _please_? I’ll be good – I promise, I promise!”

“I can take her,” Siebold offered from above them, leftover crème brulee packaged for Sycamore’s morning coffee in his hands, “We have to pick up that dress from Vernal Avenue anyway.”

“Then it’s a date,” Sycamore nodded and winked at Bonnie, and she burst into a fit of giggles before throwing herself back into his arms, littering his cheeks with sloppy kisses.

“Thank you, thank you!” Bonnie exclaimed, “I can’t wait!

“You better go to bed early, then,” Sycamore said as he stood back up, “You too, Clemont. It wouldn’t be same without your thoughtful commentary. And Eponine would love to see you again.”

The young boy shoved his hands into his pockets, his large glasses obscuring his expression from view, “Of course, professor. I’ll come. Thank you.”

“Alright, alright, it’s time for Mr. Casanova  to get moving,” Siebold pushed Sycamore from the back, leading him down the hallway and towards the backdoor, “If we keep feeding his ego, he’ll never leave.”

“Or you’re afraid I’m going to bring up that colleague of yours,” Sycamore pressed his fingers against his forehead, feigning ignorance, “What was her name again? Starts with a M, _really_ pretty appare –”

“Oh, can we invite Malva too, Siebold?” Bonnie tugged at her cousin’s pant leg, “That would be a perfect first date – _sooo_ cute!”

“And your visitation rights have officially expired,” Siebold shoved Sycamore at the door, and the professor turned around just in time to stare back at his intense glower, “You make it really hard to be your friend sometimes.”

“But you love me all the same,” Sycamore shrugged his shoulders and winked, “Right, _mon mignon_?”

Siebold bristled at his old pet name, and promptly slammed the door in Sycamore’s face rather than gracing him with a proper response.

“You should say you love him back,” he heard Bonnie advise from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, he probably wouldn’t tease you as much if you did,” Clemont agreed.

“Help me wash the dishes or we’re not going to the lab,” was Siebold’s only reply. Soon, silence befell the tower and Sycamore took it as his cue to depart.

It was almost nine by the time he left Centrico Plaza, the streets a bit busier than they were the other day. Figures, considering the day. University classes were scare on Fridays, giving most of the college students free reign of a late night out. As such, there were groups of younger people gathered around the various cafes and restaurants bordering the plaza, laughter and idle gossip ringing from every direction. A faint smile tugged at Sycamore’s lips, and he recalled his own college experience miles away from Luminose City. The Sinnoh region had been quite the adventure, with its rich mythology and –

“Hey! Fancy seeing you here, professor!”

Sycamore blinked, the oncoming memories evading him as soon as they arrived. The voice was familiar, and so was the figure approaching him. Long, dirty blonde hair, sparkling gray eyes…

“Oh, Jeanne,” the professor greeted as she approached him with a vibrant smile, “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you anytime soon.”

“Same here,” Jeanne replied, “Well, not outside the café, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Sycamore nodded, and before the conversation could stale, he asked, “What are you doing out this late? Did you just get off work?”

Jeanne giggled, leaning away, “Wow, I was right about you – you _are_ an old man if you think nine o’clock is late.”

“Hey, I’m only thirty-three!” Sycamore countered, neglecting to mention his birthday was within the next month, “But you’re right – nine o’clock isn’t very late at all. I’m afraid I’ve become too much of a homebody in recent years.”

“Well, working on amazing evolutionary theories will do that to you,” Jeanne teased as she rocked on her heels, “And the boss was right. He’s younger than you, but not by too much.”

“Oh? How old is he?” Sycamore asked, paying little attention to the light flutter of his chest.

“Twenty-nine,” Jeanne answered, “But he acts like ten years older than you do. He can get real crotchety when he hasn’t had a decent cup of coffee.”

“I can be just the same,” Sycamore replied, a quiet chuckle escaping after. When Jeanne didn’t say anything, her feet shuffling gravel against the concrete, the professor decided it best to part ways, even if it was at the expense of learning more about Lysandre, “Well, I better be –”

“Hey, why don’t you come back with me to the café?” Jeanne blurted out, “I was on my way over to pick Paul up from his shift – maybe he can whip you up something before we leave.”

While it did intrigue him that it was Jeanne who seemed willing to walk Paul home, Sycamore felt inclined to deny the offer. He’d seen Lysandre two afternoons before, and he hadn’t called or texted him a message since then. Wouldn’t it feel odd, if he came unannounced?

_Well, he did do the same thing to you_ , Sycamore reminded himself, _and he didn’t look bothered by it_.

“You gonna answer me or not?” Jeanne asked, tapping her foot impatiently, “If you’re worried about the boss thinking you’re stalking him or something, don’t worry. He’s not there tonight. He’s at the labs instead.”

Sycamore hummed and cocked his head to the side, “Then…can Paul make a good café noisette?”

“The best!” Jeanne beckoned him to walk with her, as though his question was enough of a confirmation, “Come on – I’m gonna be late if we don’t get a move on. And I would like to ask you about some of your evolutionary theories in the meantime.”

_Intelligent, but a little self-absorbed…right_ , Sycamore smiled despite himself, deciding he rather liked the younger woman, “Alright, but your boyfriend better deliver!”

She paused at his words, but she didn’t blush or stammer as they walked beside one another, opting to pull stray hairs behind her ear instead, “He’s not my boyfriend… _yet_.”

“That’s the spirit!” Sycamore laughed, “Good to know my meddling worked its magic.”

“Yeah, I thought I’d have to kiss him or something so he would get the hint,” Jeanne returned his laugh and her hold loosened on the straps of her backpack, “Stupid really, I should have just asked.”

“Why didn’t you?” Sycamore asked, forgetting himself. This was his first time really talking to Jeanne, after all. Shouldn’t he wait to discuss her love life until they were better acquainted? Not like it had stopped him from discussing it with Lysandre, though. Or Paul, the object of her affection.

“I don’t know,” Jeanne looked at him, a hint of insecurity reflected in her stare, “I was afraid of rejection, I guess. I mean, you don’t know if someone one likes you unless they tell or show you somehow, right?”

The professor nodded, “True; everyone’s felt like that at some point in time.”

She smirked, “Even you, Mr. Ladies’ Man Extraordinaire?”

“ _Especially_ me.”

The rest of their walk went by easily enough. Lysandre had been right about his employee; she was sharp, ready to ask another thoughtful question about evolution or breeding within seconds of Sycamore’s latest explanation. It was also fascinating to hear her stories about her espurr and the days leading to her evolution.

“There wasn’t any drastic change,” Jeanne said, eyes staring into the vast night sky, “Maybe Felicia was a little happier than normal, but she seemed the same to me. Then she just evolved, when I wasn’t even home. I even thought she was a stray, but she greeted me the same way she did every day – as though nothing had happened! She’s still the same lovable pokemon as before…I just want to know what prompted that change, you know? So I was hoping you could help me understand, if you got the time.”

“Of course,” Sycamore answered, “The real question, however, is if _you_ have the time for it, my dear.”

Jeanne turned her head towards him, lips twisted to the side of her face, “What do you mean?”

He suppressed a smile, thinking it might offend her, “You have classes, you work at the café and intern at Lysandre Labs…plus! You might have a boyfriend soon enough. I don’t think you’d be able to squeeze me into your busy schedule.”

“It doesn’t have to be a weekly thing,” Jeanne replied, “Maybe I can drop by your labs twice a month or something? I could even get Paul and boss to come with me – it could be like a group study session!”

“…I assume you won’t be taking no for an answer?”

Taking his words as confirmation, Jeanne smirked, “Of course. Boss wouldn’t have brought me on if I wasn’t persistent.”

“Seems to be a running trait at that café,” the professor scratched his head, a few black locks tangling around his fingers.

“You bet,” Jeanne replied as they turned the corner towards the café. It was already closed and the lights were dimmed, just bright enough for the crew to continue with clean-up. He could hear Paul’s voice bounce from the inside, talking to another employee about the day’s classes.

“You sure he’ll have time to make us something to drink?” Sycamore asked, “Seems like they’re almost done in there.”

“We could always use the espresso machine in the back,” Jeanne replied, “We don’t shut that one off until we’re done with everything in the kitchen.”

Sycamore nodded, “As long as it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all!” Jeanne exclaimed, “Now hurry up, old man, or else we won’t get any!”

“Already with the nicknames?” he grinned, “And it’s only our first date.”

She rolled her eyes as she pushed him towards the doorway, though she was unable to hide her teasing smirk, “Oh, please. You’re hardly my type.”

“I figured,” Sycamore said, and they entered the café with Jeanne’s spare key.

The walls were still a vibrant red, and the faint smell of coffee grounds and pastries wafted throughout the room, though the sharp scent of disinfect began to overpower it. Paul’s back was turned away from the pair, his focus caught by a sticky mess near the back of the café. Another employee with a mullet cleaned the tables, and smiled as he noticed Jeanne closing and locking the door behind them.

“Hey, Jeanne!” her co-worker waved, and Sycamore noticed Paul stiffen at the sound of her name, “What’cha doing here?”

“Oh, you know me, Syd,” Jeanne tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket, eyeing Paul’s back with mild amusement, “Just gotta check up on some of my favorite men.”

Syd’s stare darted from her to Paul, and his smile morphed into a smirk, “I see – but who’s this handsome devil you came in with? Is he a favorite of yours too?”

“Maybe,” Jeanne sang, giggling girlishly for added effect, “Isn’t he cute though?”

At the veiled insinuation, Paul shot up and spun around, eyes widened in alarm. But when it became clear to him who Jeanne was standing by, his face fell into a scowl, though the flush on his cheeks remained, “Oh, ha _ha_ , guys. Very funny.”

“Nice to see you too, Paul,” Jeanne led Sycamore down the café, their steps leaving damp footprints against the mopped floors, “I thought I swing by for a quick cup of coffee and pick you up! We can even take a walk around Centrico Plaza if you’re up for it.”

“Um…sure,” Paul blinked, taken aback by her proposal, “Let me just finish up with this spot and I can make you something.” His eyes fixed themselves on the professor a moment later, and he frowned, “But how’d you run into him? You don’t teach a class at the university, do you?”

“I used to,” Sycamore answered as he casually leaned away from Jeanne and held onto one of his hips. The last thing he wanted was for Paul to imagine him as some sort of romantic rival, “But that was a few years back. Now that I’m the head of the labs, I don’t have much time to teach. I wouldn’t be against a guest lecturing though.”

“Hey! That’s a great idea!” Jeanne clasped her hands together, leaning right back into Sycamore’s frame. Paul glowered, but Jeanne didn’t seem to notice, “How about I put a request in with the Pokemon Studies department? It’s just my minor, but I’m on good terms with the chair.”

The optimistic sheen glossing over her eyes reminded the professor of Bonnie, and he beamed, liking Jeanne just a little bit more than before, “If they have room for me this or next semester, I’m sure I could work it into my schedule.”

“Awesome!” Jeanne looked back at Paul, “You’ll go with me to make the proposal tomorrow? The sooner we get it done, the better!”

The younger man hesitantly nodded, and took one more glance at Sycamore before replying, “Uh, sure, Jeanne. Sounds pretty solid.”

“Great,” Jeanne replied, and she abruptly jerked the mop away from Paul’s grip, “I’ll finish this up – how about you go make the professor and I some café noisette?”

Paul paused, his hands still upright near his chest, “You should really let me finish, Jeanne. The boss doesn’t like you working off the clock.”

“And how’s he going to know?” Jeanne flipped her hair over her shoulder, a hint of a challenge furrowed into her brows, “I doubt Syd’s the type to snitch.”

“He’s not, but it’s best to know if your employer is present before you plan your mischief.”

Sycamore’s blood warmed at the sound of his voice, and he watched as Jeanne simultaneously stiffened and swerved her head around, witnessing the first signs of embarrassment sinking into her lips and eyes, “O-oh, heeyyy, boss! I thought you were spending the afternoon at the labs today.”

“I was,” Lysandre replied, his eyes flickering over Sycamore for just a moment, “But Marie wasn’t feeling well, so I covered the last half of her shift. You, on the other hand, were _not_ scheduled tonight. Just what are you doing with that mop in your hand?”

At first, Sycamore thought the younger man was cross with Jeanne, his hands clasped together behind his back and one eyebrow crooked, beckoning an explanation. But as the seconds ticked by, the curves of his lips hinted at a smile and his eyes crinkled in amusement.

Picking up on this shift, Jeanne shot back with a shrug, bringing the mop close to her chest, “I was about to sing that trashy pop song you love so much on top of the counter, and this old thing’s my makeshift guitar. Paul’s backup, Syd’s the drummer, and the professor’s my groupie. You wanna be the pianist?”

Syd snickered from the other side of his room, and Paul broke out into a nervous smile. Lysandre continued to stare at Jeanne, her eyes dancing. Finally, he sighed and turned his attention to Sycamore, his expression apologetic, “I’m sorry she’s roped you into her blatant debauchery, professor. It seems she likes Paul too much to stay away for long.”

Jeanne and Paul both sputtered at the accusation, refusing to look one another in the eye. Syd continued to laugh, and he murmured something about having ‘the best job in the world.’ The mood lifted and Sycamore joined in the waiter’s laughter, replying, “No worries, my friend. I was a rather willing participant, though you would be pleased with Miss Jeanne’s skills of persuasion.”

“Albeit,” Lysandre said, “What exactly did she promise you?”

“A fantastic cup of café noisette,” Sycamore winked at Jeanne, her face tinged pink, “from her just as fantastic not-boyfriend.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side, professor,” Jeanne  grumbled from beside him.

“Very well,” Lysandre replied, “Since Paul is still finishing up that mess, I’ll make it for you instead. Jeanne, sit down and wait for Paul to finish. And Syd, continue on with the tables. Professor, come with me.  You all may join us in the kitchen when you’re done.”

“Sure thing, boss!” Syd smiled widely, “Can you put some milk in mine?”

Lysandre nodded to his employee and turned away from the group, expecting Sycamore to follow. The professor did so, but not before wagging a finger at Paul and Jeanne, his brows high on his forehead, “Keep your hands to yourselves, you two.”

And while Paul’s cheeks bloomed red, Jeanne’s lowered head and slew of muttered swears were much more entertaining to witness.

When Sycamore entered the kitchen, a flurry of mewls and squawks greeted him, and a pair of small, furry arms jumped into his. He caught onto the pokemon and looked down to see Clovis happily cuddling against his chest. Meanwhile, Louis hovered above the professor and continued to chatter on, as though Sycamore was perfectly capable of understanding him.

“Hello, Clovis,” Sycamore grinned at the mienfoo in his arms and scratched at his belly, a shriek of delight emitting from Clovis soon after, “And hello to you too, Louis. I hope you’ve been staying out of trouble.”

Louis huffed at the accusation, flapping his wings a little more urgently.

“I wouldn’t have brought him if he had,” Lysandre replied from the other side of the kitchen as he prepped the grinder, “He’s behaved well enough since your last encounter with one another, and Clovis gets rather bored at the labs at times. And he can’t really play with Charles.”

“Charles? Another one of your pokemon, I assume?” Sycamore asked, walking up to the counter Lysandre stood at. It was strange; he didn’t feel particularly nervous or jittery, despite the invitation to the gala still flickering across his mind. Maybe it had to do with his employees or his pokemon – with them, Lysandre seemed approachable, obtainable.

“Yes – he’s my gyarados,” the younger man answered, “I also have a pyroar named Francis, but I usually leave him at home to guard the apartment.”

“A pyroar?” Sycamore cocked his head, and took a moment to appreciate Lysandre’s mane of vibrant red hair, “That definitely suits you.”

“That’s the general reaction,” he replied, turning the knob of the machine after he fastened on the lid. The sound of the machine ripped through the kitchen, even drowning out Louis’s persistent chirps. Sycamore wanted to smile and chuckle at his words, but he wondered if such a gesture would offend the man. After all, he didn’t have the slightest idea as to why Lysandre fashioned his hair like that. Better to wait it out and let him answer in time.

When the espresso was finished, Lysandre whisked five cups from the cabinet above them and sat them onto the counter, “Any special requests?”

“Some extra cream would be nice,” Sycamore replied as he settled Clovis onto the counter beside Louis, “I would ask for a double shot, but I can’t afford staying up all night.”

“So you opt for more sugar instead?” Lysandre finished up his cup and handed it over, “Interesting.”

“Ahh, you’ve found it – my one true weakness,” he took a cautious sip, the taste reminiscent of hazelnut. It was more than enough to keep him awake for the next hour or so, “This is splendid as well! It still amazes me that you’re talented in both science and cooking. Who taught you?”

Lysandre answered while finishing up the rest of the cups, his stare growing distant, “My mother taught me the basics, but I learned far more from one of our chefs. When I wanted a snack, I’d watch him make it and mimicked it whenever I had the chance to. As I got older, I thought it easier to make my own meals than constantly squandering my money in restaurants.”

“Practical,” Sycamore nodded, “I would say that suits you too. I took a stab at cooking in college, but I found out I couldn’t make anything more than a decent sandwich.”

“Is that why you’re so thin then?” Lysandre asked, taking a brisk taste of his drink, “Is that all you eat – sandwiches?”

Sycamore chuckled, leaning one of his hips into the counter, “No, I’m afraid that’s just genetics. Though I’m sure my faulty diet contributes to it. I love food, but I often forget to eat. Especially when I’m in the labs. It’s easy to get caught up in research.”

“It is,” he agreed, but his eyes soon narrowed in contemplation, “But I believe an individual’s health takes priority over all else. You’re not worth much if you collapse from starvation or sleep deprivation.”

“As I’ve been told,” Sycamore replied, not sure what else to add to the conversation. Professor Rowan had been critical of his eating habits, too. And he _had_ tried to change them, he really had. It just wasn’t…terribly important to him, “Maybe you can give me a tip or two?”

“Of course,” Lysandre took another sip before settling his cup onto the counter, “The next time we meet at your labs, I can bring a few basic recipes – hardly anyone could screw them up.”

“Good thing you haven’t seen me in the kitchen,” Sycamore joked and cupped his coffee close to his chest, smiling. He was about to say something else, something trivial like what Lysandre’s favorite meal was –

This was it; the perfect time to ask. It would be such an easy transition, too. Lysandre already mentioned their next meeting. Why not give it a shot?

His hold on the cup tightened, but his lax posture and easy grin remained intact. Sycamore may not be great in the kitchen, but he was talented at playing pretend when such the situation arose, “About our next meeting, Lysandre…we should plan that! Are you available this weekend?”

“For the most part, yes,” Lysandre said, giving the professor the whole of his attention, “What did you have in mind?”

Sycamore didn’t miss a beat, throwing his free hand into his pocket and leaning just a little bit forward, “Well, I’ve recently been invited to a gala this weekend – to honor the latest Elite 4 member. And since I have little experience with these kinds of high class gatherings, I was hoping you would attend as my plus one. I’d really appreciate it.”

Okay, so he couldn’t go all the way. It seemed he didn’t have the nerve to toss out the “date” word just yet. At least he had asked – thrown himself out there.

Lysandre didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the doors. The trio outside was squabbling over something that had to do with some new video game, though Sycamore couldn’t pinpoint their exact words. Not like he would listen in if he could.

“No need to waste your invitation on me, professor,” was Lysandre’s reply, his voice cool. Sycamore’s stomach flopped at his answer, but continued to listen, hoping his face didn’t betray his disappointment, “I’ve already been invited by Drasna. She’s a family friend and visited the labs the other day. She even insisted I bring along all of my top researchers. I’m sure they all will be delighted to meet you.”

“Oh – great, then!” Sycamore’s voice strained against his throat, but he had to be thankful. It wasn’t like Lysandre was rejecting him. He’d still be there, just...not with him, “It’ll be wonderful to meet your researchers. I’m sure they’re just as pleasant and passionate as you are.”

His lips twitched into a smile, but it was gone before Sycamore could really capture the image, “You could say that. They’re all competent and remarkably intelligent. I’m sure they’ll approve of your company as much as I have.”

Sycamore paused, his mouth opening and then promptly snapping shut. So blunt, honest…what he would give to have just a little of that frankness. If only to ask what he really wanted, “Wonderful. It’ll be honor to meet them.”

“Now that that’s settled, I’m sure you can bring along someone more to your liking,” Lysandre suggested.

_But I already like you_ , Sycamore thought, but he bit back down that particular response, and asked instead, “More to my liking?”

“Any woman would be thrilled to attend a gala with you,” Lysandre replied, his face at ease, “If those gossip columns are to be believed.”

Before Sycamore could respond (although he wasn’t sure how, exactly, he could), the large kitchen doors swung open and revealed Lysandre’s employees. Jeanne led the pack with Paul and Syd following closely behind.

“They’re all finished, boss,” Jeanne said as she ruffled the top of Louis’s head and scratched Clovis’ chest. The pokemon cooed, leaning their heads into her touch, “And I didn’t help them whatsoever. It was really satisfying to watch.”

Syd hummed, strumming his fingers against his chin, “I bet it was – Paul’s back was turned for like half the time, so you got a nice view of his –”

“I’ve already warned you about language before, Syd,” Lysandre cautioned, handing over one cup to Paul. The boy’s stare was fixed on the cup, unable to look at Jeanne, “Must I remind you another time?”

“Nope, we good boss,” Syd rushed out, his voice the only sign of embarrassment, “Sorry.”

“What were you talking about out there?” Sycamore asked Jeanne as she stood beside him, happy she had. Out of the three, he enjoyed her company the most.

“The new racing game coming out,” Jeanne replied, and took a sip of the coffee with her pinkie finger out, “The graphics are supposed to be amazing, but I’ve heard the mini-games and downloadable content is kind of a rip-off.”

“You like video games, then?” Sycamore asked, “I haven’t played a game since…well, I think it’s been about six or seven years.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to,” she smirked, “You _are_ an old man.”

“Haven’t you heard that with age comes wisdom?” Sycamore closed his eyes and wagged a finger, “Give me an hour, and I guarantee I’ll run circles around you in that little game.”

“You’re on!” Jeanne exclaimed, “Anytime, anywhere.”

“How about this Saturday afternoon?” he inquired, his tongue far ahead of his coherent thoughts, “Before you attend the gala in Rogue Plaza with me?”

The room went quiet, Paul and Syd’s idle discussion with Lysandre dying within moments. Both employees’ stares were bemused, though Paul’s hinted at a worry that should have eased twenty minutes ago. Even Lysandre seemed startled, though his eyes remained unreadable.

Jeanne blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. She cast her eyes down before answering him, tucking stray locks of hair behind her ear, “Uh, well…that sounds awesome, but are you sure you want me to go with you? I mean, don’t you have a bunch of girl –”

“I want to go with a friend,” Sycamore interrupted her, afraid she had received the wrong impression, “And I think it would be a great opportunity for you. Don’t you think, Lysandre?”

For the first time since he’d known him, Lysandre seemed at loss for words, as though he couldn’t believe Sycamore had the audacity to ask out his young employee in front of him, “Yes…I think it can be a great learning experience for her.”

“Then it’s a date!” Sycamore clapped his hands, though he made sure to nudge Paul’s shoulder, offering a small wink of consolation, “A _friend_ date. Don’t want your not-boyfriend to get the wrong idea.”

And even though he seemed uneasy about his current predicament, Paul straightened his back and grinned, “Better treat my not-girlfriend right, professor.”

Jeanne giggled from behind them and, emboldened by his smile and her good fortune, she clasped onto Paul’s hand, pulling him towards the door, “Hey, let’s go on the walk now – you’re off the clock!”

“It’s ten already?” Syd asked, taking a glance at his wristwatch, “Oh shh – I mean crap, it is. I promised my buddies I’d meet them at that bar on Estival…are we allowed to go, boss?”

“Yes, you may,” Lysandre nodded, “I’ll lock up.”

“Great!” Jeanne said, rushing towards the door with Paul still in tow, “See you on Saturday, professor! And I’ll see you at the labs, boss!”

“Yeah, boss,” Paul waved as Jeanne opened the door, his face much more relaxed. It appeared he enjoyed being touted off, “I’ll see you soon then.”

“Have fun, you two!” Sycamore returned the wave. Syd departed a minute later, downing his coffee as he ran out the alleyway exit.

“Do you need help cleaning up?” Sycamore asked when Lysandre unhooked the espresso machine and carried the cups to the sink on the other side of the kitchen, “I’m not much of a cook, but I do know how to scrub a dish at impeccable speeds. Years of feeding pokemon will do that to you.”

“No, thank you,” Lysandre shook his head, “You’re a guest of the establishment. I can’t ask you to partake in my responsibilities.”

The professor paused. If he couldn’t help, would Lysandre ask him to leave? It may be childish, but Sycamore wanted to stay with Lysandre for just a little while longer. This was the second time they were (besides the pokemon playing in the corner) alone, and he wanted to make the most of it.

Even if it was a silly crush, just as fleeting and intense as the others before it.

So he took a quick breath, and asked, “…Would you like me to wait until you’re finished?”

Lysandre turned on the water, soaking his hands. His gaze darted towards Sycamore as he took a hold of one cup and rinsed it, the tiniest hint of curved lips and satisfaction reflecting off his face.

“You’re more than welcome to,” he replied, “I enjoy your company.”

And when Sycamore bid his goodbye to Lysandre and his pokemon, he couldn’t help but skip every so often, the memory of Lysandre’s soft smile fresh in his mind.

\----

Sorry if the end is a little abrupt, but I had a desperate need to finish this chapter. I’ve been stuck, and since I really want to write the next chapter (I’ve _always_ wanted to write out a fancy gala scene), I’ll leave how the rest of their time went to your imagination.

A few notes:

  * Malva/Siebold will be a side ship in this series, as I’ve already sort of planned out another story about them set in the same timeline as Captivation. Their relationship starts as more of a friends-with-benefits over boyfriend/girlfriend material, but it’ll progress.
  * It isn’t canon that Siebold is cousins with Bonnie or Clemont, but hey, since the Elite 4 hardly get any real backstory or personalities other than their little blurbs before and after battle (other than Malva because Malva is awesome), I thought it would be a nice way to give Siebold a little more relevance.
  * In this story, Sycamore and Siebold have known each other for about a decade. Originally, I considered Siebold as one of the men Sycamore liked before, but since it seems like Siebold is at least ten years younger than Sycamore (just basing it off physical appearance alone really), I thought that be just a bit squicky. Especially because I have them meeting when Sycamore is twenty-two and Siebold is twelve. Also, Siebold will be appearing infrequently, as he does have Elite 4 duties to attend to. You should expect more Bonnie and Clemont though (because I just adore Sycamore and Bonnie’s bond so much). Though, I also enjoy Siebold and Sycamore’s banter tremendously – their personalities play off each other really well! So, he might show up a little more often than I planned.
  * Malva isn’t here yet, but I’m super excited to write her introduction! She doesn’t know who Lysandre is and vice-versa, but her family is pretty affluent (she does have a butler in the post-game), so he may have heard of her in passing once or twice at some fancy gathering. She’ll be a pretty big part of Lysandre’s storyline, so I hope you guys end up enjoying my interpretation of her character.
  * You can safely guess just who Lysandre’s top researchers are ;3



And that’s it for right now – I hoped you guys enjoyed this chapter. It was a lot of Sycamore introspective/interacting with others/working out his feelings, but hopefully you didn’t get too bored. Like I said, slow burn – but those are definitely the best burns! XD And now you know the basics of what occurred at the Tower of Mastery, at least. That stuff will definitely be brought up again.

Okay, _now_ I’m done with the notes! See you guys in a few weeks~

 


	4. The Main Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the women giggling, leaning in closer to catch his every word, Professor Sycamore appeared natural – as though he belonged amongst these people and their decadent charade.
> 
> Just the thought curled Lysandre’s blood.

Saturday night was clear, a few stars twinkling above the city’s bright lights. The atmosphere around the streets of Luminose was upbeat, anticipation of the approaching gala sending the majority of the population in a gossipy tizzy. Lysandre thought such attention was superfluous, but he expected little else from a city that continued to thrive on entertaining its masses.

“Is it necessary for all of us to attend, Lysandre?” a deep, impatient voice said from behind him. Lysandre cocked his head back to glance at the older man, fussing with the bowtie around his neck. His pale skin contrasted tersely against his dark blue suit, but it was the only color besides orange that defused the air of malady hovering around him. And orange was hardly a color of practicality and fashion when it came to such extravagant events, “I’m sure you and Mable would be enough to please your friend.”

“Drasna specifically requested the company of my top five researchers, Xerosic,” Lysandre replied, turning his head back to the limo parked outside the lab entrance, “And you happen to be one of them. I have little reason to disappoint an old family friend.”

Xerosic sighed, “I guess…but I’m sure you know I would rather be in the lab. Our research around you-know-what is getting mighty interesting! If we could harness that energy properly – it would be revolutionary!”

“Of course,” Lysandre nodded before taking a look at his watch. Fifteen minutes passed eight…their female counterparts had been in the dressing room for a good hour by now. Sure, he figured Mable understood they each were to appear sophisticated and presentable, but they were half an hour behind schedule. Just what exactly was the hold up?

Xerosic walked up to Lysandre, his lips twisted into a frown, “You seem distracted, Lysandre. Is this what-have-you more important than you made it out to be?”

“It’s a gala, Xerosic. And no, it is not,” Lysandre insisted, covering his watch with the cuffs of his sleeve, “I just believe there is a fine line between fashionably late and a discourteous arrival.”

“Would you like me to check on the girls, then?” Xerosic offered, “Or maybe you should do it. They probably won’t yell at you.”

“Like I would ever do such a thing, pudgy.”

The two men whipped around and spotted a petite woman on top of the stairs, garbed in a black and red dress. Her short orange hair grazed the black straps wound about her shoulders, and a red barrette shaped like a beautifly sat on the left side of her head.

“You look pretty, Aliana,” Lysandre complimented, beckoning her to join them, “But where are your other colleagues?”

“They’re all finishing up with their make-up,” Aliana rolled her eyes as she wedged in-between the two men, taking the opportunity to pinch Xerosic’s shoulder. His glare hardly fazed her, and she stuck out her tongue before replying, “I can’t believe how girly they can all be out of the labs. Especially Bryony – all those stories about hiking and roughing it up as a teenager, and there she is giggling over what lipstick she should use!”

“Bryony’s allowed to like whatever she wants, Aliana,” Lysandre replied, “Just as long as her outside interests do not hinder her abilities at the labs.”

“Unlike you and your blathering mouth,” Xerosic said, his brown eyes narrowed behind his round glasses, “Always trying to start fights amongst the interns when you should be working – it’s a wonder that you’re not farther behind in your projects.”

“Figures you wouldn’t understand what I’m trying to accomplish,” Aliana shot back, standing as tall as she could. It had little effect, however – while shorter than Lysandre, Xerosic had more than half a foot on the Luminose University graduate, and more than likely doubled her body weight, “I’m trying to weed out the weaklings. If they can’t handle a few taunts here or there, how will they ever manage to improve on our tech and our mission? We can’t better the world with a bunch of useless pushovers.”

“That’s not for you to decide, Aliana,” Xerosic leaned over her, grinding his teeth together before he spoke again, “Or have you forgotten which of us is ranked fifth out of five?”

Aliana’s cheeks flushed, but she decidedly bit her tongue and said nothing else to Xerosic. Instead, she turned her attentions towards Lysandre. Her face softened, voice a few octaves higher, “You don’t think my actions are much trouble, do you, Lysandre?”

“Not at all, Aliana,” Lysandre replied, though he knew he had to say more before Xerosic retaliated at his gracious answer, “But we are building up, and we need as many recruits as possible who have the talent and the funds to make our mission possible. Once we’re a larger organization, we can make the necessary cuts if required. But for now…think of any disciplinary actions as tough love – or even a kind of encouragement. Besides, I find that course of action much more beautiful.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

His researcher blinked before responding, his words taking a few seconds more to sink in. When she realized she wasn’t in trouble, Aliana nodded and smiled, the color in her cheeks shifting from a humiliating burgundy to a wistful pink, “Oh, of course, Lysandre! I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it that way. Thank you for your kind suggestion.”

Lysandre returned her smile, ignoring the muttered string of insults Xerosic was throwing her. Before Aliana could overhear and promptly pinch him again, the doors behind them swung open, revealing the remainder of their party.

“I hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long, darlings,” a sultry voice cooed as the trio turned around. And Lysandre had to admit – if he was planning on making a sizeable impression at this gala, he was pleased that such women would be in his company.

“If you need to blame anyone, you might as well pin it on me,” the woman on the right, Celosia pointed at herself. Her purple hair was slicked back as per usual, adorned with a black headband covered in rhinestones. She was wrapped up in a lacy, sleeveless dress, a violet belt strapped around her waist, “I had no idea what I wanted to wear, and Mable had so many choices! You would think she’d brought her whole closet or something.”

“Oh believe me, I’ve been to her house,” the woman on the left, Bryony chuckled. Her short green hair remained natural, and she wore a long, dark blue skirt with a dark blue vest over a white blouse to match, “She has _so_ much more where that came from. If Aliana wasn’t so tiny, we may have been able to find her something, too!”

“Don’t throw me into this,” Aliana seethed from the other side of the stairs, “It took all of you long enough just to apply your make-up, let alone get dressed.”

“But I believe it was well worth it,” Lysandre interjected, sincere. They may be behind schedule, but their good looks and charm should pique some interest. And with interest came all those necessary funds… “Especially you, Mable. Though I expect nothing less from you.”

“Thank you, Lysandre,” Mable replied, a satisfied smile stretching across her dark red lips. Her dress, a pristine white, was long and billowy, cinched with sparkling accents. The low V-neck tastefully showed off her bust, while the loose short sleeves helped her appear inviting and gentle. Her long blue hair was tied into a braid, thrown over her shoulder and tied by a cream-colored bow.

Mable’s eyes soon left Lysandre however, and fell upon Xerosic, her smile becoming a touch more flirtatious as she and the others descended the stairs, “What do you think, Xerosic? Do you believe I will make an impression?”

Xerosic didn’t miss a beat, his eyes steadying upon her approaching figure, “I’m sure you’ll easily enchant, Mable.”

Mable’s smile widened, and Aliana silently gagged beside Lysandre.

“Everyone’s ready, I presume?” Lysandre said, leading his researchers towards the limousine, “Better get a move on, then.”

“Man, this is pretty exciting!” Celosia exclaimed as she entered the limo, taking a seat beside Bryony, “I’ve never been to a party like this before. Well, I mean – there were some school functions that I went to that sound like this gala, but never of this caliber! And I really can’t wait to meet Drasna, sir. She seems like an amazing woman.”

“She is,” Lysandre agreed, sitting at the back of the limo with Aliana. It seemed, with Celosia and Bryony practically glued at the hip and Mable looping one arm around Xerosic’s, he would be paired with his youngest researcher for the evening. Which he didn’t mind – he found all of his team interesting. He only hoped her affection extended towards others throughout the night, “And I’m sure she’ll think the same of you. Not that she is easily impressed, but Drasna is plenty generous with those she finds charming.”

“Well, guess that means you’re out of luck, Xerosic,” Aliana sniggered, strumming her fingers against her bare knee, “You and the word charming hardly have anything in common.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Aliana,” Mable replied as she drew circles in Xerosic’s arm, “I find his genius immensely charming. Among other things, of course.”

Xerosic didn’t respond, but his lips did twitch into the faintest of smirks while Aliana cringed, unable to comprehend the steady attraction between the two.

Of course, she was still young – believing all beauty remained skin-deep.

_She’ll learn in time_ , Lysandre thought. Anything less was not an option.

The car ride over to the gala was relatively short, even with the traffic the event had produced. Not that his researchers seemed to mind. Celosia and Bryony were discussing a new computer game they wanted to try out, something that involved a fennekin and its quest to save its friends from a clan of dog pokemon. Meanwhile, Mable and Xerosic conversed about music and their favorite orchestras, even wondering out loud if they should go to a concert together.

Honestly, Lysandre would be lying if he didn’t find their fledgling courtship somewhat odd – Mable was a striking woman, sought out by many eligible, delightful bachelors. And Xerosic didn’t seem to think much of anything outside of his projects. But he, even as their superior, would make no such comment of it. As long as they completed their work, all of his researchers could do as they pleased.

“Hey, we’re here!” Bryony was the first to notice, grabbing hold of Celosia’s hand in earnest anticipation, “And good thing, too – I’m starving! I can’t wait to get a bite of all that gourmet food.”

“You’ll have to wait until we find Drasna. I’m sure she has a table set up for the six of us,” Lysandre replied, waiting for the limousine to wrap around to the front of the gala’s entrance. Quick, bright flashes streamed from outside, reporters and photographers alike greedy for the littlest scrap of new material. He steeled himself for the onslaught of trivial questions that would soon fall before him – why he was there, if he had any connection to the newest member of the Elite Four, if he was dating any of his lovely female researchers – questions that served no purpose other than to suffice the mindless masses.

Mable was the first to sense his shift, watching with curious eyes as he curled his fists against his thighs, “Would you like Xerosic and I to handle the questions tonight, Lysandre? Until we head in and find Drasna, that is? All these ruffians seem to care about is fashion and romance – and I have plenty of both.”

Aliana rolled her eyes, but remained silent as Lysandre nodded, happy to have such a perceptive woman under his service, “Thank you, Mable. When you’re done with the reporters, just come and find the four of us. I’m sure we’ll be easy to find.”

“Oh – ” Mable paused, her eyes flickering over Lysandre’s red hair and thick beard, a playful smirk tugging at her lips, “I know.”

The limousine stopped moments later, and their chauffer raced out of the driver’s seat to announce their arrival. Once the words ‘Lysandre Labs’ left his mouth, the reporters huddled around the car, eager to be the first to welcome Lysandre and his team. With a sharp intake of breath, his fingers grasped onto Aliana’s polished nails and they scooted out of the limousine together.

“Lysandre, over here!”

“Hey, Lysandre – give us a smile!”

“Nice date, Mr. Lysandre. Is she your researching beau?”

A bombardment of light flooded his eyes, and it took every meditation class he attended in boarding school to stop from wincing and shaking the cameras off him. It was absurd, how little these “reporters” considered the welfare of those they interviewed. What if one of his researchers had epilepsy or anxiety, or even claustrophobia?

Sickening, how very little these people thought of others. How very much they thought of themselves.

Still, he bared a somewhat pleasant smile, unsure if it warded off the intense disgust radiating from his skin, “I’m afraid I’ll only be taking questions inside, amongst the reporters lucky enough to be invited in. My top two researchers, however, are open to any interviews you may seek.”

On cue, Mable pushed her way into the swarm of frustrated reporters, her hand tightly wound around Xerosic’s wrist, “Ladies, gentlemen, come now – is this really a way to treat a man like Lysandre?”

Once the reporters caught sight of Mable, all poise and delicacy wrapped in imported silk, the disappointment from Lysandre’s refusal vanished. Soon, most of the cameras and reporters directed their attention to the blue-haired beauty. Asking where Lysandre had been hiding a gem like her, if she would ever consider modeling outside of the labs…trivial questions that served no purpose to Lysandre or his company.

Mable was just another prop. Another source of entertainment.

“Boss,” Aliana’s voice turned his attention away from the growing crowd around Mable and towards his companion. She was biting at her lips, and her eyes were wrinkled in pain. He was about to ask what was wrong when he felt her squirm underneath his fingers, the whole of her palm chalk white. His nails dug into her skin, and he could feel the bones in her knuckles mashing together.

Lysandre immediately let go, a jolt of guilt flopping against his stomach, “I apologize, Aliana. I…forgot myself. I didn’t mean –”

“It’s okay,” Aliana shook her head and smiled, appeased by his words. She leaned forward and took back his hand, brushing her thumb against his, “I know why. I don’t like these imbeciles much either.”

“Yes…” Lysandre trailed, wondering if he should say something else to her. It wasn’t right, even if he had lost himself. Even if she did let it go all too easily, enamored by his genuine apology. That type of infatuation could be dangerous, as well as useful. 

But Lysandre prided himself on being different. On being more than just a man with a dream.

“It won’t happen again, Aliana,” he said, squeezing her hand for reassurance, “I promise.”

And while Aliana stiffened at the intensity in his gaze, she continued to smile, and nodded, “It’s alright, Lysandre. Really – I’m fine! Now let’s go inside before another wave of these termites approach.”

Lysandre grinned at her reply, and led her into the hall without another exchange.

Once a pair of doormen received their invitations, Lysandre and Aliana entered through a pair of thick glass doors, taking in the entrance of the glistening hall. Everything – from the flowers on the various tables to the crystals dangling off the chandeliers – was colored with a touch of pale pink, complimenting the white, winding staircases and solid black floors. Subtle, tasteful…Lysandre decided he liked it.

“Wow, I’m actually a little impressed,” Aliana was the first to speak, looking over the groups of people gathering near the staircases, “I thought – since I’d heard the new elite four member had a thing for pink – everything would be caked in the stuff. Like hot pink roses or gaudy porcelain vases…”

“It seems you underestimated her taste,” Lysandre grinned as he led them up the stairs, “I’ve never met this Malva before, but from what I’ve heard from Drasna…you two could be friends.”

Aliana frowned, “I don’t need any friends, Lysandre. Not when I have you and the others.”

“You’d prefer Xerosic’s company over hers?”

“Eww, no – Xerosic isn’t my friend,” her nose flared, and her hold on Lysandre’s loosened, “Though if I were to be honest…he is really fun to argue with.”

“I would assume so,” Lysandre replied. They approached the end of the staircase, and their conversation waned as a range of bubbly voices and playful jazz music flooded their ears. Like the bottom floor, the gala was adorned in shades of pink and black, with the exception of faint gold ribbon weaved around the assorted flower vases and chandeliers. Large, round tables were placed on the outskirts of the room, making way for the sleek dance floor. Long, sheer white curtains were pulled back from every balcony entrance, allowing guests to glimpse at the unfolding city night.

The whole décor was rather exquisite, and Lysandre had to wonder if this Malva had had a hand in it. Drasna had told him she was a bit Renaissance – maybe if he met her tonight, he could see for himself.

“Do you see Drasna anywhere?” Aliana asked, eyes widened in slight fascination, “Will we be able to find her in this place?”

“She’ll likely find us,” Lysandre’s eyes darted across the extravagant room, searching for signs of dark, braided hair and a pleasant smile, “she has a habit of showing up when needed.”

“Well, where did Bryony and Celosia go? They disappeared into this thing faster than we did.”

“Why don’t you find them while I search for Drasna?” Lysandre suggested, “Meet me at the stairway in fifteen minutes. We can seat ourselves then.”

While she didn’t seem thrilled about leaving her boss, Aliana agreed and let go of Lysandre’s arm, “Of course. They’re probably gorging on appetizers – completely against your wishes.”

“Probably,” Lysandre replied, a slight grin creasing the folds near his eyes. He watched as she departed from his company, noticing the occasional gentleman appreciate her small waist and lithe legs. It was unfortunate Aliana had little interest in romance. At least, with anyone other than him; he was quite sure a few of these men could indulge her, show her a nice time on the dance floor…

Lysandre paused, shaking his head. Odd; he’d never much considered Aliana or any of his employees’ love life before. While he often made small talk and enjoyed learning about his workers’ lives, Lysandre had little reason to ask or advise them in matters of the heart. After all, he understood his limitations in such concerns. His past relationships were hardly anything to write home about (if they’d been relationships in the first place). Chaste kisses here and there, awkward confessions and fumbling hands in dim lit corners…after his last failed affair, Lysandre had come to accept that he was inept in love, and currently refrained from any and all attempts at courting.

Still, Lysandre wondered if his romantic curiosity had anything to do with his new acquaintance. Even if he denied it, Luminose City painted Professor Sycamore as a charming ladies’ man, expert in all things love and intimate affection. Besides, Lysandre didn’t have much evidence to refute such assumptions, especially when the professor continued to meddle in the developing relationship of his two student employees.

_Not that I mind_ , Lysandre reflected, keeping his eye out for Drasna as a floor waitress presented him with a glass of champagne, _As long as Paul and Jeanne keep up with their work, I have no complaints._

His thoughts on the fledgling couple reminded Lysandre that Sycamore had invited his young pupil to this particular event, and had done so without a hint of remorse for any consequential repercussions. It was that kind of brash, charismatic approach Lysandre found both risky and engaging – an approach that could win the world over in a day.

“Look, look, Clemont! I found him for you!” a shrill, childish voice interrupted Lysandre’s thoughts, though he kept his poise as he heard a pair of small feet sprint towards him. Before he could turn around, a chubby hand tugged at his pant legs, and the voice spoke again, “Mr. Lysandre, sir! My brother wants to talk to you!”

Lysandre looked down, and was unsurprised that the voice was accompanied by a cute girl no older than six or seven. Her dark blonde hair was sleeked back in a style similar to Aliana’s, and her blue eyes complimented the patterned blue roses on her dress. And while Lysandre didn’t have much experience talking to children, he knew how to be polite, “Hello, miss. Your dress is very pretty.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” She let go of his pants and slapped her hands against her cheeks, “My cousin bought it for me a few days ago and I love it, love it, _love it_! I like your clothes, too – and your hair! It’s like a pyroar’s. The professor didn’t mention that!”

“The professor?” Lysandre blinked, intrigued. Did this little girl know Professor Sycamore?

“Oh my gosh, Bonnie!” another voice, squeaky and urgent entered the conversation. Soon, a taller boy swooped in on the girl, sweaty palms taking her by the shoulders, “You can’t just run off like that – this is a big place, and you might get lost!”

“Clemont, you’re so silly!” the girl giggled, and pointed up to Lysandre, “I wouldn’t get lost, not with Mr. Lysandre with me!”

The boy paled before looking up, his large, round glasses unable to hide his widening blue eyes, “Mr. Lysandre…from Lysandre Labs?”

He nodded, “Correct.”

The young boy’s shock wore off without warning, and his eyes almost dazzled as brightly as the girl’s, “It’s a – it’s an honor, sir! I’ve been reading up on all your research for the last year or so and everything about it is so fascinating. From your methods to your ideas on the creative mind – everything about it is amazing!”

Surprised, but in no way unpleased, Lysandre smiled at the boy and said, “Thank you for your kind words. I’m glad to have such a young, enthusiastic supporter. But, I apologize; I didn’t catch your name.”

“His name is Clemont!” the younger girl answered for him, “And he’s the Luminose City gym leader! Oh, and my name is Bonnie. I’m Clemont’s sister!”

Clemont flushed at his sister’s interruption, curling his fingers into the ends of his dark blue suit, “Bonnie, I really wish you wouldn’t do that…”

“She’s only proud of you, Clemont,” Lysandre tried to reassure the boy. His posture, his expression…it reminded him of the professor when he had sat at the gazebo. As if all of his accomplishments were embarrassments, something to hide away. “And with good reason, too. Not every young man your age has what it takes to be the Luminose City gym leader. In fact, I don’t think much do at all.”

The boy looked up, a nervous smile forming on his lips, “Thanks, Mr. Lysandre. But I’m only the gym leader because my parents are out of town researching. I’m sure –”

Again with the excuses, with the need to water down any little compliment. If Lysandre wasn’t sure a minute before, he was now: this boy had definitely been influenced by Professor Sycamore, in one way or another, “And they chose you for a reason, did they not? Your parents would not have selected you if they didn’t deem you worthy of the position. Only the best can be made gym leaders – both your parents and I know that. It would be foolish to hand it down to a child that was incapable of doing a decent job. Is that it, Clemont? Do you think your parents foolish?”

Clemont leaned back and threw his arms up to his chest, feverishly shaking his head, “Oh no, sir! Of course not! My parents are the smartest people I know.”

“Then have faith in their decision,” Lysandre replied, a hint of a grin pushing into his cheeks, “And don’t disrespect their choice by doubting yourself.”

It took another moment or two for the words to sink in, his face dazed and mouth open, but Clemont soon returned the smile and nodded his head, “Thank…thank you, Mr. Lysandre. That means a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” Lysandre said, “Now before we discuss anything else, where’s this cousin of yours? I assume he’s your chaperone this evening?”

“You mean Siebold?” Clemont asked, cocking his head to the side, “We were with him and Ms. Drasna before Bonnie ran off. They were making sure everything was ready for Malva’s entrance.”

“Your cousin is Siebold?” Lysandre furrowed his brows. He’d only spoken to the young chef once at the insistence of Drasna. A bit pretentious and eccentric, but with plenty of talent to back up his haughty confidence…maybe there was more to Clemont’s insecurities after all, “You two have quite the family.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty cool,” Bonnie smirked as she placed both hands on top of her hips, “But you’re cool too, Mr. Lysandre! You’re definitely better than that stuffy guy the –”

“Hey, isn’t that Wikstrom over there?” Clemont cut his sister off, and slammed his hand in front of her mouth before she could finish, “We still haven’t said hello to him yet! That’s kind of rude, isn’t it, Bonnie?”

The girl muffled out an incomprehensible reply, her narrowed eyes and flailing arms indicating she was anything but happy.

“I hope you understand, Mr. Lysandre,” Clemont looked up, smile both grateful and pleasant, “But can we talk later – about your inventions? After the dinner?”

“I look forward to it, Clemont,” Lysandre replied, nodding his head.

“Great!” the young boy exclaimed as he shuffled his sister towards their destination, “Can’t wait, sir! Goodbye!”

The children disappeared into the growing crowd, their mumbled (but quite visible) argument going unheard. Strange; who was this “stuffy guy” that Bonnie had compared him to? Maybe another role model for Clemont, perhaps?

_It’s of no importance_ , Lysandre shrugged and turned away from the pair, searching for any sign of Drasna. He should have asked the children where she was…

As his eyes scanned the room, a familiar laugh rang through his ears, and he shot his attention towards its direction. His eyes soon fell upon its owner: a woman with his back turned to his, her hair up in an elaborate, braided bun. A pair of men huddled around her, their smiles wide and pleasant.

Lysandre wondered if she was some young socialite from the city, whose only prestige was being born into a position of wealth and grandeur. The magazines around the city loved to talk about those, too – they practically drooled over any pretty, upcoming heiress. As long as she held onto a grossly, self-important sense of entitlement for the success she had no hand in building upon, she was easy, marketable entertainment. The city would either embrace her childish egotism, or condemn her.

But, even if the city did revile her in the end, there would always be suitors, waiting for their opportunity to strike.

Lysandre wanted to roll his eyes at the scene, but refrained himself. It _was_ impolite to do so in public, especially at such event surrounded by strangers. Still, he had to ponder: had he ever been so eager for the attention of a woman? To the point he would willingly compete with another man for the chance at her company?

_Ridiculous_ , Lysandre thought, and took a sip of the almost forgotten champagne laced between his fingertips. He was about to turn around and let the trio attend to their amusement when the woman laughed again, and her voice pricked at Lysandre’s ears.

“Seriously, can you believe this guy? He left to get me a drink ten minutes ago…”

The woman turned her face to the side, and large, chestnut eyes hinted at a bubbling worry. Her makeup may have been heavy, and Lysandre had never seen her out of a work uniform or a pair of jeans, but…

There was no mistaking Jeanne.

“You want one of us to help you look for him?” one of the men suggested, pressing a hand to his chest, “This is a big place – he might be lost!”

“Oh, no. That’s fine,” Jeanne reassured, turning her head back and forcing a smile, “I’m sure he’ll be back soon. And I don’t want you two getting lost, either!”

“You kidding me? I know this place like the back of my hand!” the other man exclaimed, leaning forward, “All the hotshot parties around Luminose are hosted here, and I always have to go in my father’s place. Some of them are pretty dull, but at least I met a cute girl this time around.”

“Thank you,” Jeanne replied, “That’s kind of you to say.”

Lysandre noted her soft voice and stiff posture, her heels practically drilling holes into the tiled floor. While Jeanne usually exuded confidence and charm, here…she was out of place. Around people with more money and power than she could possibly dream of.  And with wealthy men bidding for her attention, offering her compliments without a familiar face in sight…

_She’s overwhelmed_ , Lysandre concluded.

It wasn’t necessarily his place to swoop in and comfort her; it was not he who invited her. Still, she was one of his employees, and it would be unkind to not assist those under his leadership. And despite what the tabloids implied, he _liked_ helping people (or at the very least, those who would appreciate the effort).

Before the men around her could say anything else, Lysandre strutted forward, his steps a little heavier and louder than normal. It was just enough for the men to look up at the approaching figure with creased foreheads, unprepared for a new competitor.

Jeanne caught on a second too late, ready to turn and sneak a peek as Lysandre clasped a hand onto her opposite shoulder. She tensed and swerved her head back, seemingly afraid that three suitors would be too much to handle.

Lysandre was happy to observe, then, as her face relaxed and her smile warmed at the sight of him.

“Enjoying the party, Jeanne?” he asked.

Her uncertainty vanished, and she appeared to grow inches taller in a matter of moments, “Lysandre, you look amazing!  It’s nice to see you out of all those stuffy work clothes.”

“I’d take that as a compliment, but I refuse to acknowledge any part of my wardrobe as ‘ _stuffy_ ,’” he replied, and directed his attention to the pair of young men, “Who are your friends?”

“Oh, I just met them,” Jeanne shrugged, flippantly motioning to the pair, “They were keeping me company while the professor ran off to find us something to drink. Though, I think it was an excuse to see if he could find –”

She hesitated then, and the stiffness in her shoulders returned, if just for a second. She relaxed soon enough and continued on, giving Lysandre little time to comprehend her abrupt stop, “Oh, it doesn’t matter! Anyway, gentlemen – this is my boss, Lysandre: prestigious owner of Lysandre Labs and Lysandre Café.”

One of the men, a dark-skinned teen with curly black hair, perked up at her words and moved forward, his hand stretched out to meet Lysandre’s, “Wow, I can’t believe _thi_ s is your boss, Jeanne! I always stop by that café before school and grab some of those chocolate croissants! You guys make that all on-site, right?”

Lysandre took the young man’s hand and shook it. The other man’s green eyes relaxed, the previous tension in the air dissipating, “Yes, we do. I see no reason to buy from anyone else when I have perfectly capable chefs to attend to those tasks.”

“And I’m glad you do!” the young man exclaimed, “They’re really the best croissants in the city – and believe me, I’ve had my fair share! My name’s Pierre, by the way. And this here is my – hey! I think that’s your date, Jeanne!”

Jeanne swerved and jerked Lysandre’s hand off of her, looking in the direction Pierre pointed. Lysandre did the same, tilting his head. There was no need to turn or stand on the tips of his toes – he was easily the tallest person here.

He was standing a little less than a hundred feet of way, laughing alongside a pair of women around his age. He wore a slim-fit, dark blue suit that cinched around his waist with the support of one large, white button.  The accompanying white tie and shoes completed the ensemble, complementing the gray in his eyes. And in his hands, he carried two glasses of a sparkling pink something, one a little bit more than half-empty.

With the women giggling, leaning in closer to catch his every word, Professor Sycamore appeared natural – as though he belonged amongst these people and their decadent charade.

Just the thought curled Lysandre’s blood.

“Oh boy, I really think the professor did get lost,” Jeanne chuckled and watched him by the tips of her toes, oblivious to Lysandre’s shift in mood, “How about you go fetch him for me, boss?”

The request caught Lysandre off-guard, and he redirected his attention to his young employee, one brow quirked, “Excuse me? Isn’t he _your_ date, Jeanne?”

Jeanne shrugged, and a flash of mischief glossed over her eyes, “I just think it would be amusing to watch. Besides, isn’t it impolite to refuse a lady’s request at one of these little shindigs?”

“Wow, I haven’t heard someone use the word shindig in forever!” Pierre exclaimed while gently nudging Lysandre on the shoulder, “You got some cool employees, Lysandre! But, she’s right, you know – gotta do what the pretty women say!”

Lysandre frowned, unable to disguise his irritation. What was the point in all this? Sure, Jeanne and her new friends were having fun (and he supposed these kind of things were already dull enough for younger folk), but were they so starved of entertainment that they would cite archaic traditions to urge Lysandre towards his newest acquaintance?

After a brief sigh, he turned his head back to the unfolding scene and took a step forward, catching Jeanne’s widening smile as he complied, “Next shift, you’re scrubbing the restrooms spotless.”

“Worth it!” Jeanne exclaimed, and he could almost feel silent laughter rack through her shoulders.

_Unbelievable – she has the faintest of power and it goes straight to her head_ , Lysandre had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes for the second time that night, reminding himself that _polite, polite, polite: he had to be polite._ It was all he could do as he walked over to Sycamore. The professor had yet to notice his approach, wrapped up in whatever story currently spilling from his mouth. Something about a secret admirer and daily deliveries of extravagant bouquets…Lysandre didn’t really pay attention.

“And then what?” one of the woman leaned in, her lips almost pressing into his shoulder. She and her companion also failed to notice Lysandre, even as he paused and waited for the conversation to take its course (abrupt interruption was also impolite, and that was something Lysandre and gala etiquette agreed upon). “Did you ever find out who she was?”

Sycamore’s smile turned sheepish, and he hummed in response. His back was now completely turned to Lysandre, just as Jeanne’s had been, “Actually yes, I did. And…it turned out she was a high school student that had toured the labs a few months back.”

Both women laughed, wine jumping from their glasses and onto the marble floor. Sycamore joined in, his laughter quiet and more subdued.

When they calmed down, the other woman – with her big blue eyes and plump pink cheeks – finally caught sight of Lysandre. She craned her neck to meet his stare, and cocked her head to the side, coyly grinning, “And how may we help you, Mr. Tall-and-Handsome?”

Lysandre may have been inept when it concerned most matters of the heart, but he had enough experience to understand when someone was attempting to flirt. The way her tone shifted, her lidded eyes, the silly little pet name…had Lysandre been in a better mood, he _might_ have reciprocated (because, of course, that was the polite thing to do). But as he was now and with no sight of Drasna, Lysandre’s social energies were depleting rapidly, and he neither had the time nor patience for any amount of shallow intimacy.

“Sorry to disappoint, but Professor Sycamore must be returning to his date,” Lysandre replied. The corner of his eye caught Sycamore jump at his voice, and the professor swung his shoulders back in near disbelief, “Who he left unattended, I might add.”

Sycamore practically choked at the sight of him, his cheeks flushed within moments. He took a step back, almost jabbing one of the women in the chest before responding, “Lysandre – you really caught me off guard! I didn’t think I'd see you until the dinner started.”

“Shows what you know about these gatherings. Maybe you really do need my help, after all,” Lysandre replied, and beckoned for Sycamore to follow him, “Come, Jeanne and her… _friends_ are waiting. Maybe you two can help me keep an eye out for Drasna.”

“Sure thing!” Sycamore nodded his head, and quickly turned his head back to the women, an apologetic smile slipping onto his face, “I’m sorry ladies, but duty calls! Maybe we can talk after dinner.”

As they parted, Lysandre’s ears perked at one of the women’s voices, shrill and frantic, “Was that man…was that his _date_?”

“Sure sounded like it,” the other attempted to mumble, but her voice carried and Lysandre was certain both he and Sycamore could hear her, “And I was so sure that one was straight!”

Before Lysandre could contemplate how to handle that kind of comment, Sycamore spoke, either unfazed or ignorant of their words, “So, who did you bring as _your_ date? I would love to meet the lovely lady that’s captured your attention!”

Lysandre’s mind flickered to Aliana, and he almost shuddered at the notion. While his employees were more than welcome to date one another, he wasn’t one to fraternize, especially with those under his control. Conflict of interest, unequal…it wouldn’t be fair. Besides, he was sure it was just some puppy love crush – she’d find someone eventually. Hopefully, “I’m afraid I came rather unattached, though that’s probably just the same as coming with someone else’s girlfriend.”

The professor chuckled and shook his head, “Hey, that’s not fair! At least I brought someone!”

“I guess you win that round,” Lysandre shrugged, “Though, unattended, I have much more opportunities to look than you do.”

Sycamore paused for a moment, and a flash of an unreadable…well, _something_ dashed across his eyes, “You…look?”

That tone…did it – did _he_ sound sad? “Objectively, for the most part. It’s ordinary to recognize and appreciate physical beauty. Or am I wrong in that regard?”

“No, of course not,” Sycamore quickly replied, his voice returning to its jovial norm. But there was something about it that was off. Something that Lysandre didn’t quite like, “I just assumed – well, you’re so polite and formal! I didn’t think you’d be the type to be obvious about those kinds of things.”

Lysandre grunted, “Hardly. Everyone should know where and how they’re beautiful.”

“When and how they’re beautiful…” Sycamore trailed, and his arms began to slump, “Oh, that makes sense! I also forgot how frank you are with the compliments. My mistake…seems like this champagne is getting to my head faster than I thought it would.”

“Maybe we should find a table soon, then,” Lysandre frowned, “Before you really start to make a fool of yourself in front of all these pretty women.”

Sycamore blinked, tightening the grip on the two champagne glasses. He steadied himself, standing straight up and taking another glance at Lysandre before replying, “You know, it’s…not really the women I’m con –”

He was cut off by three pairs of feet scurrying over to the pair, petite fingers unwrapping the professor’s from one of the glasses. Jeanne gave Lysandre a pointed look, her lips curved in a faint smirk, “Gosh, I forgot how chatty you can be around the professor, Lysandre! It’s almost like you’re his date more than mine!”

“Are you not the one who demanded I return him to you?” Lysandre turned his attentions to Jeanne, never missing a beat. Though, he was a little unnerved. Not that he was bothered by Jeanne’s teasing or the women’s assumptions, but… “If you wanted him to yourself, you should have gone instead.”

“Eesh, where’s the fun in that?” Jeanne grinned and looked over to the professor with a widening grin, “And you two were having a good time! It didn’t feel right to interrupt too quickly.”

Their banter was short-lived. Just as Lysandre was about to say something else, the lights dimmed and the chatter throughout the whole hall quieted to curious murmurs. A single light illuminated the ends of the staircase, with a man in gleaming armor at its center. His black hair stuck out from his head like thorns, his pointed face and sharp gray eyes addressing the crowd with an air of courtly formality. Hands pressed into the small of his back, shoulders square and spine straight…Lysandre would have rolled his eyes if it had been anyone else standing before them like that (that is, if he could roll his eyes).

Wikstrom was a powerful man, however, and his complete devotion to such outdated values was rather admirable. That, and being Drasna’s friend and all, compelled Lysandre to listen.

“Good evening, honorable guests of near and far,” Wikstrom started off, every syllable precise and crisp against his lips. Lysandre heard Jeanne chuckle against her palm, the old knight’s mannerisms proving to be too much for her. He would have shot her a look, but he quickly remembered she was neither on his time nor his date. Best to just leave her be – she’d been more than a handful already, and dinner had yet to be served, “As you are all aware, tonight is a most joyous occasion. Amongst Luminose City’s best and brightest, we introduce the Elite Four’s newest member.”

Wikstrom paused while the surrounding crowd cheered, a sea of claps tickling Lysandre’s ears. A few catcalls could be heard in the clatter, undoubtedly produced by men who whistled at the mere prospect of an attractive woman within their vicinity.

Sycamore chuckled behind him, “Siebold has competition, I see.”

Lysandre didn’t have time to turn around and respond, though his interest was piqued. He’d never heard of two elite four members dating, and from what he had gathered from other social parties, Siebold was married to his work as both a chef and water pokemon master. Something Lysandre could relate to.

“Our newest addition is of regal flame and enchanting beauty, poised and capable of the fiercest attacks. She and her pokemon have endured countless obstacles to achieve this highest of feats – all at the tender age of twenty-two! Her competitive nature can only be matched by her tenacious strength and enduring wit. I, and the other members of the Elite Four, are proud and honored to have her within our ranks. Without further ado, I introduce to you: Malva, fire master extraordinaire!”

Wikstrom step out of the spotlight as three figures made their way up the stairs. One was a female pyroar, strutting in front of her human companions. Another was Siebold, dressed in a navy blue tux with a thick, white tie. And the other…

“Wow, I didn’t think she’d be so pretty!” Jeanne exclaimed from beside Lysandre, pressing her fingers into his arms and pushing her face forward, “Seriously, what a knockout.”

“Wikstrom was correct in calling her an enchanting beauty,” Sycamore said from Lysandre’s other side, “What do you think, Lysandre?”

Her hair was a shimmering pink, tied neatly into a braid that slid down her back. She wore a black satin dress that strapped around one shoulder, leaving the other exposed. A dark pink sash accentuated her waist while the rest of her dress billowed at the hip, the hem grazing the tops of her ankles. Square, black glasses pressed against her nose, complimenting her red lips and rosy cheeks. Lysandre couldn’t quite catch the color of her eyes from this distance, but he doubted even the dullest shade could detract from everything else about her. 

"Wikstrom was indeed correct," Lysandre agreed, his eyes following Malva and Siebold's walk towards the large tables on the outskirts of the room. The music picked up again and the crowd followed the pair's example, scrambling to find tables to accompany their parties, "She's exquisite."

"Ooo, now that's a compliment!" a gravelly, bubbly voice exclaimed behind Lysandre. He, along with Sycamore and Jeanne, turned around to see a short, thick woman with long black hair cascading down her shoulders and past her hips. Her eyes were closed and her smile was bright, a few wrinkles visible beneath the corner of her eyes. And while her clothing was plain - a basic maroon dress with long sleeves - her neck, wrists, and ears were decorated with jewelry made from the bones of dragon pokemon, "I'm glad you fine Malva just as charming as I do, Lysandre!"

"Ahh, Drasna - I was looking for you," Lysandre smiled and approached her, taking her hand and pressing it to her lips. And though this particular greeting had remained the same since he was a child, Drasna giggled nonetheless, a healthy blush dusting her cheeks, "Did you happen to find my assistant, Aliana? I sent her to look for you."

"Oh, yes! She's such a bundle of determined energy. No wonder you like her!" Drasna glanced passed Lysandre and looked over the party behind him. She cocked her head to the side, and her smile grew soft, almost surprised, "And the beautiful people behind you, are they your friends?"

Lysandre felt the urge to frown, but he suppressed it as he drew his hand away. The way she had said that word - _friends_. As though he was still a child that needed such unnecessary companionship. Drasna had always known him as a boy who enjoyed his solitude, whose only really needs were books and his pokemon to keep him occupied. Perhaps she thought he would outgrow that, and enjoy people a little bit more.

And people were enjoyable enough. But if they had nothing to offer him besides some vague promise of friendship, he was better off cooped up in his apartment. Alone, with only his pokemon and blueprints to work on.

Still, Lysandre chose to leave her question unanswered, and turned back to the four behind him, "Drasna, this is Jeanne, an employee of mine, along with two gentlemen she's befriended at the party. And this is Professor Sycamore - I'm sure you've heard of him."

"Oh, of course I have!" Drasna exclaimed as she politely shook each of their hands, her large, bright smile never leaving her face, unconcerned with the wrinkles etched into her cheeks and beneath her eyes. When she approached Sycamore, her smile grew a tad more bemused, the bottoms of her cheeks crinkling further, "Lysandre was absolutely enamored with your work a few years back. He read everything of yours - I couldn't get him to talk about anything else during some of our visits! I hope he's been behaving well around you and your work!"

Lysandre wasn't one to flush from embarrassment, but he certainly stiffened as Jeanne and her companions giggled beside him, taking joy in this newfound information. Sycamore however, kept his composure and beamed at Drasna, tipping his champagne glass towards her, "Lysandre admitted to that much before, but more affirmation never hurts! I hope you, too, have enjoyed my work, _ma cherie_?" 

Drasna giggled, the sound feeling much too girlish for an older woman of her caliber to ever emit, "Your theories are absolutely lovely professor! Especially if they prove to be true. I know Diantha would love to find a way to mega-evolve one of her pokemon. She would be quite difficult to defeat if she had power like that."

"I heard she already is!" Sycamore nodded, pulling away his hand and continuing to smile. He threw a quick glimpse at Lysandre before continuing, his face soft and eyes gentle, "Now, I'm sure you have much more important guests to attend to. Jeanne and I can - "

"Oh, nonsense!" Drasna shook her head and laughed, her face tilting a little more towards Lysandre, "Any friend of Lysandre's is someone I want to learn more about. And I'm sure Siebold will want you to sit nearby - he talks about you a lot too, you know?"

Before Sycamore or Lysandre could respond, Drasna clapped her hands together and turned around, expecting the lot of them to follow, "You all have to sit with Wikstrom and I. He'll definitely take a shine to all of you, I just know it. Come now, everyone - I insist!"

Lysandre sighed, gathering the attention of his current companions. He nodded and took a step forward, accepting her invitation, "It's best not to argue with her. She always has a way of getting what she wants."

Though, he couldn't say he wasn't relieved. Besides Jeanne and his researchers, Sycamore would probably be the only pleasant company he'd receive all night. Him staying close was a good thing, and Lysandre was thankful for that. 

"Well, if you say so, boss!" Jeanne shrugged, motioning for the others to follow, "I'm not about to complain. This probably means we get served first!"

Her two new friends smiled at each other - hardly able to believe their stroke of good fortune - and followed close behind, wondering out loud what would be served at such a high end event. Lysandre wouldn't have particularly cared to watch any further, but his eyes caught Pierre taking a hold of the other man's hand, leading them towards the table. Lysandre's brow furrowed - hadn't they been trying to court Jeanne? If they were together, why had Jeanne appeared so tense when he first noticed her?

"Come along, Lysandre," Drasna's sugary chime interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see the back of her hand flippantly raised in the air as she continued onward, "Your date has been patiently waiting for you."

Lysandre stiffened yet again, all of the breath quietly leaving his body. He noticed Sycamore was still beside him, probably waiting for him to start walking so he wouldn't be left behind. He would have commented on it had the situation been different, but for some reason he had yet to decode, he didn't want Sycamore to be misinformed of his intentions with Aliana. She was a young girl after all, a year or two older than Jeanne at most... 

Yes, that had to be it. He didn't want Sycamore to think he'd pursue one of his subordinates, especially someone so young and easily influenced by his command. Sycamore thinking of lesser of him...that was not a consequence he could chance.

Lysandre directed his gaze at Sycamore, and waited for the other man's eyes to meet his to speak, "Aliana is not my date. Drasna has misinterpreted."

The professor blinked, his gray eyes taking on a curious shine. A moment later and he closed his eyes once more, a cheeky grin slipping past his lips, "Of course, my friend. I believe you! You don't have to reassure me - though, I'm sure there will be plenty of wandering eyes throughout the evening, dates or not."

_That's not why I was informing you_ , Lysandre thought, almost grimacing at the further miscommunication. He wasn't sure this was any better - he really didn't plan on looking at anyone else this evening besides the people at their table. That's why he had brought along his researchers - they could do most of the small talk for him. 

"I said I look objectively," Lysandre tried to correct as they finally walked towards their designated table, their fellow companions already introducing themselves to Wikstrom. An unease gnawed into his chest, and Lysandre took a sharp breath, unable to let the matter fade into the night. He needed Sycamore to understand - Aliana may not be his date, but he was hardly some reckless womanizer in return, "And I doubt anyone else here could compare to what I've already seen regardless."

"Oh, so you mean _Malva_ , right?" Sycamore asked, his smile becoming a little off. Lysandre didn't like the way her name rolled off of his tongue, as if she was some sort of contestant in a beauty...

Lysandre paused, recalling what Sycamore had said a few minutes earlier, wondering how he hadn't picked up on the signs.

> _“You…look?”_
> 
> _"I didn’t think you’d be the type to be obvious about those kinds of things."_
> 
> _"I also forgot how frank you are with the compliments."_

"She _is_ pretty gorgeous," Sycamore continued, his thumbs rimming the edge of the champagne glass caught between his hands, "With all the hair and that glistening dress, even her eyes seemed to sparkle behind her -"

"Professor," Lysandre interrupted, placing a gloved hand over his friend's shoulder, his rattling words instantly leaving him. They were just a table away from the others, and no doubt his researchers had a good look at what he was doing. But he found that, in the moment, he didn't care. This was far more important. 

A small smile rounded out his face, and he hoped his eyes appeared as genuine as the compliment that passed his lips, "That suit looks good on you. I apologize for not saying so before."

It took a moment for the words to sink into Sycamore, to realize what had been said to him. He soon glanced away and chuckled, his cheeks stained pink, "I...thank you, Lysandre."

Lysandre pulled his hand away in response, his smile morphing into a tight smirk, "I didn't think you'd be one to fish for compliments. I'm sure many women would bestow them freely upon you."

"Well..." Sycamore trailed, looking to the table. Lysandre followed his gaze and noticed Jeanne laughing with Bryony and Celosia. Aliana had her back turned to him, talking to Pierre and his apparent date, their hands still held, "What can I say? Your opinion is important to me."

"And yours is just as important to me," Lysandre replied, "I'm glad we agree on that sentiment."

Sycamore looked as if he wanted to say something else, his eyes flickering from the table to the glass in his hand. Instead, he cocked his head towards the table, his eyes glazed over in a quiet joy, "Come on - can't keep your lovely researchers waiting!"

And when Sycamore walked forward, quickly introducing himself to Wikstrom with the same easy smile he had graced Lysandre with upon their first meeting - the pit of Lysandre's stomach churned, an electrifying warmth spreading across his chest and shoulders. Startled, Lysandre shook his head and approached the table as well, hoping no one could decode his sudden discomfort. That feeling...

_Attraction,_ Lysandre thought, watching as both Xerosic and Aliana raced up to meet him, undoubtedly about to confront him with something they squabbled about earlier, _What I just felt was...attraction_. 

He didn't dare to glance at Sycamore any further, afraid the feeling would come back. It wasn't as if such a feeling were impossible - Sycamore _was_ a handsome man with a captivating personality...but it had been years since such a feeling had risen inside of him. He hardly knew what to do with such a concept. 

But, with all the frowns when he spoke of women, the desire to invoke a single compliment...could it be possible Sycamore was attracted to him, too? And the anger at seeing Sycamore with those women, the need to make sure Sycamore knew he came to the gala unattached...had Lysandre been attracted to him all this time?

He was unable to continue his reflection however, as another figure approached him and gracefully slid in-between Xerosic and Aliana. Bright pink hair gathered most of his attention, and Lysandre did his best to shove his previous thoughts into the back of his mind. 

"So...you're the famous Lysandre," Malva asserted, her posture poised and smile gentle. She was truly beautiful, but neither her body nor her face stirred him in the way Sycamore had only moments ago, "Drasna has told me so much about you. Would you care to sit beside me this evening? I would love to hear about your work in detail."

And despite the hint of regret curling around his heart, Lysandre didn't hesitate, taking Malva's hand into his. His lips briefly pressed into her soft skin, and he replied, "It would be an honor and a pleasure, madam." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...like....
> 
> I am so, SO sorry it took me this long to update. I really, truly am and understand if no one wants to read this anymore. It wasn't my intention to wait over a year to update this, but life, a loss in my family, and a lot of feelings inadequacy got in the way. Every time I tried to finish this story, I'd get serious anxiety over if I was capturing the characters correctly, that it had already been so long since I updated so what was the point, etc. And whenever I would get a new comment, I would just feel completely worthless - so many people liked this story and I felt like I was letting you all down by letting so much get in the way. 
> 
> But then I met a wonderful young lady who encouraged me to continue the story, and said that a lot of people would be happy if I updated Captivation. She even showed me a piece of fanart that was inspired by my fic - something I didn't even know about! She's been so kind to me, and I'm surprised someone so nice and thoughtful is a decade younger than me. She's such a treasure, and I'm glad I can call her my friend.
> 
> And so, I pulled myself forward and finished editing this part of a VERY long chapter, and decided to split what I had worked on so far into two segments. What you all just read was Part 1 of the gala, and the second part will follow within the next few weeks. I just need to finish editing it and make sure all of it is in-character.
> 
> I really hope my characterization of Lysandre and Sycamore has stayed consistent. I initially planned for Lysandre to realize his attraction to Sycamore at the end of the gala, but in the initial draft, he just felt too oblivious for my liking. Lysandre is insightful, studious - he would figure out his feelings of attraction sooner rather than later. I still plan on making this a decently slow burn, so you all will have to wait to see what happens in Part 2, haha! Also, I hope you enjoyed my interpretations of the researchers so far. They were really fun to write!
> 
> Lastly, the chapter title is taken from lyrics found in "Va Va Voom" by Nicki Minaj. That song is in my joke playlist for Lysandre and Sycamore, and given that Sycamore is Lysandre's main attraction and....haha, I'm not funny. Don't take my chapter titles seriously. 
> 
> As always, comments are greatly appreciated. Let me know your thoughts and I'll be happy to respond!


End file.
